To See Her
by Potato19
Summary: Set during Goblet of Fire. Harry faces the Tri-Wizard Tournament, the endless scrutiny and gossip, as well as several other obstacles, including, say, coming to terms with his feelings towards his bushy-haired best friend.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I, by no means, claim to own anything remotely related to the Harry Potter Universe. No copyright infringement intended.

Byline: This is definitely a Harry/Hermione story.

AN: This is a fourth year story. Some of the things that happen in the book and movie do generally happen in this story, just differently, and maybe in a different order. It definitely goes by the movie mostly. Particularly the Tasks and the Yule Ball. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter One

Hermione Granger was almost certain she would make it back to the classroom before him. She had to. She'd promised to have everything ready by the time he arrived, not that she thought he would even care if they started a little later than they agreed. It was just that her Arithmancy classroom was so much further away from his Divination classroom.

Believing the classroom was indeed empty - as Professor McGonagall had promised, so they could work in private - Hermione burst threw the door, somewhat ungracefully, only to find him already there. Sitting at a table. With a book open in front of him. Huh?

Only, his eyes were closed. And he hadn't even reacted to her arrival.

Sensing something was amiss, she gently shut the door behind her and started to move towards him. "Harry?" she queried softly, not really wanting to _disturb_ him.

It took him a long while to register the sound of her voice. When he did, his eyes snapped open and settled on her, drinking in the sight. Hermione actually shivered under the gaze of the striking green. Merlin, what had happened?

He was out of his seat in the next second, bounding towards her like a freight train. She was actually afraid of the impact, so she was pleasantly surprised by the gentleness of his embrace. That, and she was normally the one to initiate the contact, so _something_ definitely must have happened. It also didn't help that she hadn't seen him all day. Having all these other foreign students roaming the corridors really messed with her schedule and daily routine. How was it that the first time she was seeing her best friend was after _all_ their official classes had ended?

Tenderly, Hermione wrapped her own arms around him. Wow, he was warm. Pleasantly warm. And soft, baby soft. She was also certain that he was trembling. She ran a hand from his shoulder down his back, somehow translating to him that she was there. She wasn't going anywhere. It seemed to work because he eventually pulled back and gave her an embarrassed smile.

"Sorry about that," Harry said softly. "I suppose I was just really relieved to see you."

Hermione just nodded, swatting the awkwardness aside. If she could give him hugs, so could he. "You look pale, and you're shaking. You're not coming down with something, are you?"

"I reckon I am," he mumbled, moving back to the table and retaking his seat. "I'm suddenly coming to terms with my mortality."

She frowned as she too moved towards the table. "What are you talking about?"

Harry indicated to the open pages in front of him. "Tell me, the brightest witch of our generation, just how much do you know about dragons?"

Hermione's eyes opened wide. "Excuse me?"

"Dragons, Hermione. The First Task is a bloody dragon! They have one for each of us."

Hermione had to sit down to digest that news. She dropped down into a chair to his right but it didn't really help. She actually couldn't believe it. "Wait. How do you even know what the First Task is?"

Harry looked at her. He really _looked_ at her.

Hermione couldn't help but shiver once more. Why was he looking at her like that all of a sudden? It was almost like he was finally seeing her, for all that she was. Why was that so terrifying, and exciting at the same time?

"Ron's backhanded tale the other day," he muttered, looking away, feeling a bit ashamed of how he had acted towards her. "Hagrid took me out to see them - the dragons - last night. Under the Invisibility Cloak, of course. I was pretty much third-wheeling the most awkward _date_ between him and Madame Maxime. It'll give me nightmares until I'm old and grey."

Despite her obvious concern, Hermione had to smile.

"But then again, so will a dragon." He looked at her, green eyes boring into her, as if she held all the answers.

Well, perhaps she did. Was that why she was here? All she was good for?

Harry leaned back in his chair, his lips moving but not saying anything. He closed his eyes again.

Hermione stared at his lips. _Eight. Nine. Ten. ..._ Was he counting? "Harry?" she croaked, her worry getting the better of her.

He stopped suddenly and looked at her. "Sorry. Right. Umm, I know I'm not usually like this. I mean, I should be calm and stoic, but I have literally never been more scared in my entire life. Okay, maybe I have, I don't know. But nothing has ever felt like this. I'm literally shaking." He held out his hands for her to see. "How on earth am I supposed to evade a dragon when I can barely hold a bloody wand?"

Sensing the path he was taking himself down, Hermione took hold of both his hands in her own and squeezed them tight. "Hey! Okay, yeah, it's a little foreboding."

He gave her a sideways look.

"Okay, it's _a lot_ foreboding, but we've faced worse odds, right? And I already told you I would help you. I'm not about to back out just because you have to face a dragon. What kind of friend would I be if I just left you to figure it all out for yourself?"

Harry stared at their hands for a while, deciding he quite liked the softness of her skin against his. Also, their fingers kind of fit perfectly together.

Under his scrutiny, Hermione carefully withdrew her hands, thinking he didn't appreciate the contact. She sat back to think, which was probably a bad idea. She almost fed off his initial panic, only fueling her anger.

"Dragons," she whispered under breath. The more she thought about it, the angrier she got. Eventually, she slammed a palm down on the table, surprising them both. "Are they insane?" she asked, her voice rising. "I mean, are they _trying_ to kill you?"

Harry just stared at her. "It wouldn't be the first time," he said sheepishly.

Hermione would have reprimanded him by punching him in the arm but, instead, she moved the hair away from where it had fallen over his eyes. She needed to see the green. "Well, there was the time when they had a three-headed dog in a school. With children."

Harry gave her his most trademark smirk, eliciting a completely un-Hermione-like giggle from the female Gryffindor. "And the whole Chamber of Secrets thing. You'd think they would have figured out they were harbouring a giant snake sooner than three measly twelve-year-olds."

Hermione laughed out loud at that. "And the dementors. Who invites soul-sucking demons into a school? Honestly. Where are their manners?"

Harry laughed with her, his eyes turning to slits. "And now, sure, we'll let a fourteen-year-old fight a dragon. Nothing terrible could possibly happen."

Slowly, morbidly, their laughter died down. The reality was that Harry Potter, fourteen or not, would be facing off with a dragon whether he liked it or not. Now, it was up to Hermione to make sure that he didn't get killed. Because, really, what kind of life would she live without Harry James Potter?

"Is that book even on dragons?" Hermione asked, breaking their post-laughter silence.

Harry seemed to snap back to reality. "Honestly, I have no idea. It was the first one I could grab."

She laughed lightly. "You're the worst."

He shook his head. "I don't know how you find anything in that library of yours. And these things are bloody heavy. I reckon you'd even consider this _light_ reading, wouldn't you?"

She was about to shoot something back at him but she thought twice. "If we're going to do this, and we _are_ going to do this, you can't tease me about my books." She hadn't even realised that the volume of her voice had dropped.

Harry looked at her, suddenly feeling ashamed. "I'm not teasing your books," he said, the truth of it in his perfect, green eyes. "I love your books. I love that you love your books. I love your books because you love your books. Hermione, I love your books because they help you keep me alive!" He was breathless by the end of his tiny monologue.

Hermione had to smile. "You should probably find another verb, other than 'love'," she pointed out. "Your overuse is diminishing its effectiveness."

"Why? I like it. No, I _love_ it. It just makes so much sense in my head. It just, it... just has so much meaning. I mean, would you say appreciate instead? Really? Or, better yet, would you say adore?" He leaned forward, with his eyes doing that thing again. He was _looking_ at her. "I appreciate you, Hermione Granger," he said, so seriously that she swore her heart actually stopped.

She literally had no beating heart.

"I adore you."

Her heart still hadn't restarted.

"I love you."

She would have passed out; she really would have.

"Now you tell me which one has the greatest effect," he added, sitting up straight again. "And be truthful. Which one makes the most sense in your head?"

 _None of them._

 _All of them._

Hermione remained silent, not trusting herself to speak. But she did breathe. Thankfully. How was it that he could reach that kind of severity? The way he looked at her. Honestly, he was only fourteen.

"That's what I thought," he said, not bothering to wait for a reply. Perhaps he sensed that none would come. Harry Potter had managed to do the impossible: he had silenced her. That was a feat enough to announce him the winner of the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

Hermione used the time that he absently paged through the book to get a hold of herself. He was trying to prove a point. He said what he said to prove a point. Calm down, Hermione Granger.

"We probably need more books, don't we?" he eventually concluded, slamming closed the book in front of him, displacing some dust.

The sound prompted Hermione into action. "Definitely. That book's rubbish."

"Are you insulting my choices?" he asked, his gaze meeting hers. "Because I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"And why wouldn't I?" she had to ask, even if she was slightly afraid of his answer.

His eyes narrowed, only intensifying his gaze. "I chose you, didn't I?"

Hermione, again, didn't trust herself to speak. Instead, she rose to her feet, grabbed his hand, pulled him up and started to lead them to library. She forced herself not to think about the sublime warmth of his hand in hers. Why was he so warm? And soft!

She walked briskly, tugging him along through the empty corridors.

Harry followed, only slightly smirking. If Hermione were to actually ask what was going on with him, he probably wouldn't have an answer. Suddenly, all he really wanted to do was look at her. Like _look_ look at her. She was really quite fascinating. And he quite _loved_ it when she was mad at him. A small part at the back of his brain even allowed him to think that she was positively cute when she was scolding him. He let out a laugh.

Bloody dragons.

Hermione climbed the stairs to the library two at a time. At the first sight of another human being, she released his hand. There were already enough rumours going around; there was no need to add fuel to the fire.

The absent murmuring around the few occupied tables dropped to hushed silence when the two Gryffindors arrived. Neither one paid any attention to it. Harry, in his time, was used to being stared at and talked about. It came with being Harry Potter, he supposed. Hermione, on the other hand, in her time, was used to Harry, and whatever came with him.

"Let's start in the Magical Creatures section," she instructed, leading him through tables and large bookshelves. The girl knew exactly where she was going.

He watched in fascination as she expertly chose books from shelves. Some books, he couldn't even make out the titles of. She was so much in her element that Harry would have been contented just watching her. Honestly. In that moment, he couldn't think of doing anything better. Well... As long as it involved her.

"I think these will do for now," she eventually said, indicating to a pile she had selected. It was a rather boisterous pile, with some fifteen books, all of varying thicknesses.

"I can already feel my brain shutting down," he said, only slightly groaning.

"Harry, you can't honestly expect me to do all the work," she said, straightening her back and lifting her chin.

Putting a hand on the back of a chair was the only thing that stopped Harry from passing out. By straightening her back, she pushed other assets forward, and Harry's idle boy mind definitely reacted. Huh. Strange.

"I don't," he forced out.

She frowned, a bit confused. "Okay...?" She started to pick up some books. "Help me get these back to the classroom."

Harry whipped out his wand and used the levitation charm to lift the remaining books, which made Hermione give him a look. "I'm not all braun, baby," he found himself saying. "Got a bit of brains too, you know?"

Hermione just shook her head as she once again led the way through the library to where they checked out the books. By the time they made it back to the classroom Professor McGonagall had so generously informed them would be empty every day after classes, Hermione was already sprouting out all sorts of theories, even though she hadn't even opened a book yet.

Harry just listened in his new, constant fascination. The part in the back of his brain allowed him to think that she was even cuter when she was going on and on, deep in her element. Who, in their right mind, would ever dream of shutting her up?

While she separated the books into workable piles, Harry pulled parchment, quills and ink from his bag and lay them on one of the larger tables. This way, they could both take notes as they went through the books. Not that he expected he would have that much to contribute. It wasn't that he wasn't interested in finding ways to keep himself alive. He was _very_ interested in that. It was that Hermione was so much better to look at.

Every few sentences of reading, he would _have_ to look up. It was like a need. He had to see her, just make sure she was still there. With Ron leading all those who abandoned him; he was quite certain that he wouldn't survive if Hermione ever didn't believe in him.

"I can't concentrate when you keep looking at me like that," Hermione eventually said, not even looking up from her pages. She absently bit on the back of his quill, deep in thought.

"Like what?" he asked innocently, now unafraid to look at her. She'd caught him. What was the point of sneaking now?

Hermione exaggerated a sigh as she shifted the large book so she could get a better look at him. "Like you have something to say but you're too afraid of what I'll think, so you're buying your time, waiting for the right moment. Only, the right moment won't arrive, and then it will be too late, and then it'll all just be awkward."

Harry just blinked.

"Am I right?"

Was she? He just blinked some more.

"What do you want to say, Harry? Just say it. I'm all ears. You have my undivided attention."

Harry searched his brain, looking for what, if anything, he wanted to say to her, ask her. Everything just seemed so unimportant now. He was looking at her and he was seeing her. How was he supposed to convey that to her without having her run for the hills? Really, sometimes even a look in the mirror made him want to run. Anywhere far away from him was safest. He was about to fight a dragon, for God's sake.

And the thing is, he was pretty certain she would have climbed into the ring with him, if she could have.

Bloody dragons.

Harry was looking at her again. Something in his green eyes had changed, and it looked permanent. Maybe she was watching him grow up. This was it. The Tri-Wizard Tournament was turning him into a man. It was beautiful to watch, and yet still a damn shame. She didn't want the childish gleam in his eyes to be gone forever.

"Harry?" she prompted.

He smiled, trying to look as innocent as possible. "What?"

"Stop looking at me. I'm trying to save your life here."

That only made him smile more. "But I like looking at you."

Hermione's eyes snapped towards him. "What?"

"It's calming," he explained. "Like, no matter what happens, I can look at you, and everything will be okay." He lifted his hands to show her. "Look, I'm not even shaking anymore. You did that, Hermione. You _do_ that for me. Every day."

If Hermione didn't have the book in her lap, or if she weren't pressed so close to the table, she might have slipped right out of her chair. What was happening right now? Who was this person? "Harry, are you sure you're all right?"

He nodded, while giving her a curious look. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

She just looked at him, trying to read his face for what was really going on. But, really, he just looked amused. And serious. It was a strange but endearing combination. "That hair of yours is bothering me," she said. "Why does it keep falling over your eyes? Honestly, doesn't it know that the great public needs to see those eyes?"

Harry bent his head forward and then whipped it back, moving the hair from his eyes. "Better?"

She beamed. Actually. It felt like her smile might even split her face. "You're the worst, you know?"

He blinked innocently.

"And use your hand next time," she added. "Might give yourself whiplash."

That made him laugh out loud, and it seemed to ripple right through his entire body. "So will fighting a dragon."

"Ah." As if remembering why they were actually there, Hermione returned her attention to what she was reading. If she noticed him looking at her, she didn't comment on it. It kind of felt nice in a way. Having him look at her, even if it was for selfish reasons. Even after all these years, he still needed her. Harry Potter. Needed _her_. Hermione Granger. Crazy.

After a while - really, after Harry paged through a few books - he stood up and walked around the room. Hermione was only vaguely aware of his whereabouts, right until she felt him behind her. Without her realising, he was there, and his breath was hot against her skin.

"Found anything?" he asked, peering over her shoulder, as he bent to take a look at what she was reading.

He was so close, Hermione actually stopped thinking. She couldn't find the words to speak. He smelled so good. What was that? Vanilla?

"Or are you just finding ways to affirm the fact that this dragon is, in fact, going to kill me?" he asked, finally standing up and releasing whatever hold his proximity had on her. He started to walk around again, completely unaware of the sporadic heartbeat of his best friend.

Hermione forced herself to calm down. This was insane. It was just Harry. _Her_ Harry. They had sat side by side for years. What could have possibly changed? "Harry," she said, turning her head to look at him.

He stopped moving and turned to look at her. "Hermione."

"I promise I'm going to do everything I can to make sure you survive. Okay?"

He nodded dumbly, the intensity of her tone catching him off guard.

"Now, please come and sit down," she said, exaggerating yet another sigh. "You are starting to give me a headache."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

True to her word, Hermione Granger did all she could to make sure her best friend didn't die in the First Task. Short of taking his place in the ring, she wasn't sure what more she could do. She spent every moment she could, after their classes let out, trying to prepare him. She taught him spells, helping him with the wand movements and correct recitation. She even researched ways to kill a dragon, if it actually came down to it.

Harry was a diligent student. The closer they got to the First Task, the more he seemed to pay attention. He kept looking at her in his new way and Hermione even started to think that it was a look of fascination. Which was just ridiculous. It had to be something else.

When Harry first performed the Summoning Charm, Hermione was so excited, she practically flew into his arms, crushing his bones. Good thing it was just the two of them in their practice classroom.

"Ouch," he said softly, even though he didn't release her. If anything, he tightened his hold on her, trying to mirror her enthusiasm.

Hermione released him first, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Sorry. I guess I got a little excited," she said. "This just feels good, doesn't it? We're going in the right direction." She stopped herself, realising that her words could hold a different meaning. "I mean, with your preparations for the Task," she clarified. "You know so many spells now. And your shield is strong; it could block fire."

He just kept his eyes on her, the green almost caressing her. "All because of you," he said seriously.

She was unable to deny the truth of it. Not that she would want to. It was nice having Harry recognise and appreciate her efforts. "Have you spoken to Ron since...?"

Harry's eyes immediately darkened. Why did she have to bring him up? "No," he said limply. "We just go about our business as usual. It doesn't matter. I'm not about to beg him to believe me." He took an involuntary step towards her. "You still believe me, right?"

Those eyes. "Of course," she said. "Frankly, I don't think you would even know how to put your own name into the Goblet."

He smirked. "I'm trying desperately hard not to be insulted right now," he muttered. "I'm just glad that _you_ were the one to believe me. Not the other way around. Really, I don't even know what I would do if I ever fell out of your good graces."

Hermione wanted to hug him again. It was a strong urge, but she was just able to resist. "That could never happen," she said instead. "I know how to whip you into shape, Harry Potter."

"Got me wrapped round your little finger, do you?"

"You would bow before me if I asked," she teased.

He was grinning from ear to ear. "My lady," he said, reaching for her hand and kissing its top, allowing his lips to linger. "How may I be of service?"

In that moment, Hermione's mind went to a place it very seldom went to. As quickly as it went there, she pulled it back. God. Keep it together. She could feel her cheeks start to burn. Oh my. What if he noticed?

Harry released her hand and stood up straight again. His eyes were twinkling with mischief. Did he know what he had done to her? Without another word, he assumed an offensive stance and pointed his wand at the pile of clothes they were using for him to practice his Charms. They were mostly his clothes, both clean and dirty. Either way, he didn't really care. Hermione had thrown in a scarf and an old skirt. As yet, he hadn't managed to summon either of those.

Hermione watched him continue to practice. His successes were few but increasing. She watched his hand work his wand. "Sharper at the end," she said, spotting something wrong. She stepped towards him and, without giving it much thought, put her hand over his holding his wand. The length of her arm lined with his, and she was only vaguely aware of the fact that the front of her body was touching the back of his. Trying not to think about it, she guided Harry through the wand movement a few times. "Now try." She stepped back, suddenly feeling cold. She really couldn't get over how warm he was.

Harry seemed to come out a daze. Without saying anything to her, he proceeded to cast the spell, and a white shirt of his flew towards him. He caught it in his left hand and held it up in victory. "Success."

She laughed.

"Thank you," he said sincerely, chucking his shirt at her.

She was just able to catch it, her hands reacting in time. She was hit by his Harry smell, and it nearly knocked her over. There definitely was vanilla. And something else... Oak wood? Some kind of wood, definitely.

Harry continued to work on the spell, even dropping in a few others in quick succession. He even started to move around, running one way and rounding back on himself, as if anticipating something.

Hermione moved to one corner of the classroom, sat down and watched him. He was so graceful, with a determined look on his face. The fear was gone. If anything, he wanted to survive. It wasn't even about winning right now. It was about living.

In the blink of an eye, Harry Summoned an article of clothing from the pile and was able to send it towards Hermione. She looked surprised, but still impressed. From where he was standing, breathing a bit heavily, he could see her study the jersey she had sent his way. It was his Quidditch one, with the word _Potter_ written on its back.

Without a moment of hesitation, Hermione slipped the jersey on over her uniform and brought her knees up to her chest. Then she looked at him, only to find him already looking at her. "What?" she asked innocently. "It's getting chilly."

It really wasn't, but Harry wasn't going to point it out. Even if he could bring himself to speak.

As much as he tried, not that he did, Harry was quite certain he would never forget the sight of Hermione tucked away in his Quidditch jersey. It filled him with a feeling he didn't recognise and he wasn't bothered to try to decipher it. All he knew was he liked it. Looking at her, goodness, how he liked it. Even _l_ _oved_ it.

* * *

In the last few days leading up to the First Task, several things happened.

First, and most important - at least to Harry - Hermione kept his Quidditch jersey. He didn't need it, but that wasn't the point. She kept it, and she wasn't the least bit afraid to wear it. In fact, if she could have, she would have worn it every single day. It made her feel untouchable. Kind of like she was his, or he was hers.

Second, Ron spoke to him. He didn't say anything to write home about, but Harry appreciated that the redhead didn't actually _want_ him to die.

Third, he discovered that Cedric did not yet know about the dragons. He wasn't sure how that had happened, but he decided to mention it to the Hufflepuff in passing. In the end, he didn't want anyone else to die either. It was only fair.

Four, Cho Chang wished him luck. Unlike many other students who thought he somehow weaseled his way into the tournament, she didn't seem to harbour any ill feelings towards him. Which left him a little gobsmacked. When he mentioned it to Hermione, she just smiled. "Well, you _are_ Harry Potter." Harry didn't know what that meant and he didn't care. He wouldn't allow himself to be miserable or distracted, so long as he had Hermione at his side. Or a little in front of him, shielding him. The girl definitely knew how to take care of herself.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked him, nudging the boy to her left with her elbow. They were seated together on the couch opposite the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room. It was the early morning; the morning of the First Task.

Harry had mentioned to her that he didn't think he would have been able to sleep, and Hermione offered to sit with him. As much as he wanted to, he didn't argue with her. He really didn't want to be alone. "I'm not sure," he eventually admitted.

Hermione turned her head to look at him. "Scared maybe? Nervous?"

"Yes," he said, letting out a breath. "I mean, no. Yes - and no. Both. I don't know."

Hermione just stared at him.

He laughed at himself. "All of the above," he said, his eyes glistening. "I guess I just want it to be over. I mean, even the whole Wand Weighing Ceremony had been a lot to deal with. Now I'm about to face a dragon."

"Bloody dragons."

Harry started to laugh at that and the shaking of his body made him lean into her, warming her up. "Exactly. You get it."

Hermione also leaned into him, soaking up as much warmth as she could. "You're going to be fine, you know? I can feel it." She waited for a trademark retort but he said nothing. "Sirius even said it. He believes in you. I believe in you. And you probably know more hexes than I do right now. Although, I wouldn't really suggest using them against a dragon. I reckon it'd already be angry enough with you."

Harry allowed his smile to linger, especially when he realised that their shoulders were touching. And their elbows, and wrists. In fact, the length of his arm almost lined up with hers. So, without much thought, he absently hooked his little finger with hers. It was all he would allow himself to do. He was already barely holding on to his own emotions about the fact that he could be dead by the end of the day.

Hermione stared at their fingers in the dim light from the fire. There were so many things she wanted to say to him; so many things that he needed to hear, but she couldn't bring herself to say anything. The silence was so comforting, so reassuring. How could she break it?

At a certain point, Harry's breathing turned shallow. In her experience, she could tell he was asleep without even having to look at him. When he started to fall into her, she shifted so as to allow him to rest his head in her lap. She pushed the hair off his eyes to reveal perfect eyelashes. Even in his sleep, he looked troubled. She couldn't be sure if he was having a nightmare or if he was just restless because of what was expected when he woke up. Whatever it was, she didn't dare wake him. The boy needed his rest.

He had a big day to look forward to.

* * *

"Harry?" Hermione whispered.

Harry heard her voice but he couldn't see her.

"Over here," she whispered again.

Harry moved back until he reached the edge of the Champion's tent. "Hermione?" he whispered back.

She moved to an opening in the tent's flaps so she could hear him. "Are you nervous now?" she asked, her voice low and worried. She thought she might cry.

"You could call it that."

She took a deep breath. "Look, the key is to concentrate, okay, and..."

"Battle a dragon."

She shuddered at the thought. "Do you know which dragon you're fighting yet?"

Harry nodded solemnly, even though he knew she couldn't see him. "The Hungarian Horntail."

Hermione's gasp was undeniable. She let out a pained sound as she flapped through the sides of the tent to crush him in a hug. She squeezed him so tight, Harry even dropped his wand. "Don't you dare die, Harry Potter," she whispered in his ear. "Don't give Rita Skeeter the satisfaction of predicting a 'Teenage Tragedy.' You play to your own strengths. Don't give up." She released him, her eyes a little watery. "Look for me in the stands if you need to. I promise you, I'm not going anywhere." She didn't say anything else as she dipped in to kiss his cheek and then disappeared out of the tent like she had never appeared in the first place.

Harry turned back to the other Champions. Only Viktor Krum was looking at him, curiously. Harry looked down at the ground, fighting the blush. It was, he supposed, better to focus on Hermione than on the dragon he was about to face.

When the first canon went off, Cedric stepped out of the tent and into the arena. From then on, Harry seemed to lose track of everything that was going on. Thankfully, nobody tried to speak to him. Well, not until the canon sounded, indicating that it was his turn to face his... maker?

The first person he looked for when he stepped out into the rocky arena was Hermione. Somewhere, up in the stands, she was looking at him too. Then she yelled out.

"Behind you!"

Harry just managed to fling himself to the left as the dragon's thunderous tail came down on the spot in which he had been standing. He crawled along the ground, wishing the whole thing would speed up. In the end, it seemed too. He'd been knocked down a few times but Hermione kept screaming for him to get up. So he did. And he used his wand to Summon his _Firebolt_. Harry couldn't claim to remember what happened after that.

He'd panicked when the dragon broke free of its chain, but he was a Seeker through and through. He knew how to fly and, before he knew it, the Golden Egg was his. Well, it was theirs. He never could have done it without Hermione, and he was sure going to tell her so.

* * *

Back in the Gryffindor common room, while the celebrations were still going on somewhat, Harry dropped down onto the couch in front of the fireplace out of sheer exhaustion. He hadn't even had a chance to change out of his Task uniform. He was still wearing _Potter_ on his back, as if he needed to remind anyone more of who he was.

At a certain point, a cool body sat down beside him and hooked a little finger with his. He didn't have to turn to know it was Hermione, also clad in her _Potter_ memorabilia.

"I bet you just want to go up and get some sleep right about now," she said, reading his facial expression like she was reading a book.

He finally turned to look at her. "Are you trying to tell me I look tired?"

She grinned. "No. Never." She stuck her tongue out at him. "I actually think you look rather handsome. Even if you do have dirt on your face."

"Battle marks, Hermione. I battled a bloody _dragon_."

"I was there," she said, tugging on his little finger. "Scared me half to death. I really hate having to face the prospect of losing you. It really doesn't sit well with me."

"Well, I'm not going anywhere either, you know?" he said. This time, he tugged on her little finger. "How could I? What on earth would become of my _Potter_ fan club?"

Hermione felt her cheeks burn, especially as she sat there in his jersey. "Do you want it back?"

"No," he said quickly. "I don't want it back. In fact, I want you to have it. Keep it. I like the way it looks on you better anyway."

Hermione didn't really know how to respond to that. Was he even looking at her like _that_? So she changed the subject. "The Egg was a little disappointing, wasn't it?"

Harry looked at the Golden Egg perched on the table to his right. Oh, what he had done to retrieve it. It better prove to be every bit worth it. "The answer's in there somewhere," he said softly. "We'll figure it out. I can do just about anything, as long as I've got you."

Another change of subject. Desperately. "I see you and Ron made up."

Harry's eyes still darkened, but they quickly lightened again. "I guess. I don't know. I don't think I can forget that he didn't believe me. I don't even know what I did that pissed him off so much. Was it the fact that he thought I did it without telling him? Or was it that he thought I did it to spite him?"

Hermione didn't pretend to understand the _intricate_ workings of a boy's mind, but she thought that she could probably explain Ron to Harry if the green-eyed wizard ever actually asked.

"I want to say thank you," he said, his voice barely audible. "For all your help. And for all your patience. And for believing in me. I don't even have the words to convey to you just what it all means to me."

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, forcing herself not to squeal in delight. "You _appreciate_ me."

Harry looked at her. "Yes, yes. Exactly that. I appreciate you, Hermione Granger, for all that you are, and all that you're not."

Absently, Hermione hooked her fourth finger with his fourth finger. It just felt like the right thing to do. Now they had two fingers hooked on each other, and she used them to tug on him as a response to his statement. Clearly, she didn't trust her own voice anymore. Not tonight, when he was sitting so close, and she had watched him almost get crushed by a giant dragon some few hours ago. He was here, right beside her, in all his glorious warmth.

"By saying thank you the way I'm saying thank you, I by no means give you an out. You know that, right? There's a whole Second and Third Task. I need you. The same way I've always needed you, only more."

Hermione couldn't have spoken even if she tried. Did he even know what he was saying? Did he have any idea what saying such words to a girl could do? Probably not. He was just too innocent. And warm. Merlin, and he was soft.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"This is horrific! Complete and utter rubbish," Hermione said through gritted teeth as she sat beside Harry for breakfast in the Great Hall. "Honestly, is this woman insane?"

Just then, Ron slipped into position opposite them. "What are you going on about?"

Hermione growled. She actually _growled_ , she was so angry.

Harry just managed to keep the milk from his cereal in his mouth. He'd never heard a sound like that from her. That part in the back of his brain allowed him to think that he quite liked it.

"Rita Skeeter," Harry told Ron. "She's dug her teeth into Hermione now," he said. "I bet she's disappointed I didn't get killed."

Hermione turned to him, looking rather incredulous. "Don't say that! I would much rather read about my twisted love life than read your obituary, thank you very much."

That seemed to get Ron's attention. "Your love life, you say?" he asked, smirking, as he reached across and lifted The Daily Prophet out of her hands.

Harry was more surprised that she actually let him take it. She immediately returned to nursing her toast, clearly preoccupied by something.

Ron started to read, and then he started to laugh. "She is insane! You and Harry? A couple? Hah."

Both Harry and Hermione looked at him, deers caught in the headlights.

"Why do you find that so funny?" Hermione asked, more out of curiosity than anything. She was genuinely interested to know why Ron found the idea so preposterous.

Harry desperately wished that she hadn't asked, but he found he was quite interested to hear what his friend had to say on the matter as well.

"Oh come on," Ron said, looking between his two best friends. "Seriously? You're kidding, right?"

"I'm curious," Hermione said, leaning forward with her elbows on the table and resting her chin on the inside of her palms.

When Harry looked at her, he had to force himself not to squirm. Her position squeezed certain assets that only that part in the back of his brain was allowed to think about. There was a weird tingling in his stomach though.

Ron swallowed heavily, even making the gulping sound. "Well, I don't know. Wouldn't it just be weird?" He looked at Hermione. "I mean, I reckon I'd much prefer you and Krum really."

"Really?" Hermione asked, holding her position, clearly oblivious to Harry's predisposition.

"Is it true, by the way?" he asked. "I mean, Rita doesn't just come up with this kind of stuff out of thin air, does she?"

Harry made a point of looking at her. Thankfully, she had sat up, relieving some of the strange sensation in the pit of his stomach.

Hermione felt her cheeks start to burn. "We've spoken," she admitted.

That was news to Harry. He didn't even know where she found the time, what with all the time she spent with him, and Ron. Harry didn't like it. He _really_ didn't like it. It twisted his insides to think of her even talking to a boy - who was he kidding; Krum was a man - that wasn't him.

"So you fancy him?" Ron asked, suddenly very interested.

Hermione's blush only deepened. "Definitely not as much as you fancy him, Ronald."

Ron looked a little gobsmacked, but he eventually laughed.

Harry didn't. His head was filling with all sorts of thoughts of Hermione going out with Krum; Hermione falling in love with Krum; Hermione getting married to Krum; Hermione having babies with Krum. Little _Krummies_. Krum Krum Krum!

"Oi, mate," Ron sounded, getting Harry's attention. "All right?"

Harry just couldn't make sense of his thoughts. Why was he so concerned with whom Hermione _spoke_ to? Why should he care?

"Harry," Hermione said, almost whispering. She put a hand on his arm, fingers cool through the fabric of his school shirt. "You're pale. And you're shaking. What's got you panicked?"

Trust her to remember that this was how he acted when he was panicking. Boy did he wish he was actually coming down with a cold or something. "Nothing," he said eventually, moving his arm, and rising to his feet. "Nothing." And then he left the Great Hall, his cereal unfinished, with the part in the back of his brain growing bigger and bigger by the second.

* * *

Harry didn't actively try to avoid Hermione. He would have but he honestly didn't think he could pull it off. He needed to be in her presence. It was just a thing he needed, even with all of his twisted thoughts swimming around in his head. If he could just talk to her, maybe she could find a way to help him make sense of everything. But that would require him to tell her that that part in the back of his brain actually existed, and he wasn't anywhere ready for that conversation.

"Did you hear?" Ron asked, dropping down opposite Harry as they settled in for Study Hall in the Great Hall.

"Did I hear what?"

"About the Yule Ball, mate. Supposed to be some kind of dance. That's why they had us bring all those dress robes," he explained. "Can you believe it?"

Harry could. In fact, nothing at Hogwarts could surprise him anymore. Pretty much everything that could have happened to him had already happened. Why waste time dwelling on it?

Ron read his face. "You knew, didn't you?"

He sighed. "Professor McGonagall may have mentioned it to me after class today," he admitted. "I was kind of hoping she was having me on. Apparently she wasn't."

Ron looked horrified. "Do we, like, need dates or something?"

Harry nodded bleakly. "And, as a Champion, I have to open the dance floor with all the other Champions. It's tradition."

Ron looked even more horrified. "Bet you wish you hadn't put your name in the Goblet now, huh?"

Harry just glared at him.

Ron put his hands up in mock surrender. "Too soon?" He laughed. "Well, who are you thinking of taking?"

 _Hermione!_ "Umm," he sounded. "I'm not sure."

"Well, you've got the whole Castle to pick from," Ron muttered. "I'll probably just end up going with Hermione."

What Harry would give. "Speaking of Hermione, where is she?"

Ron shrugged. "Probably somewhere snogging Krum."

Harry's fists automatically clenched. He had to drop them under the table so as not to alarm Ron. What was _wrong_ with him? He stood up quite suddenly. "You know what happens when we leave Hermione alone," he found himself saying.

Ron looked at him. "You do know that Krum isn't a mountain troll, right?"

 _May as well be._

Harry left his things on the table and went in search of his best friend. It didn't take him all that long to find her. She was, thankfully, alone as she walked down a corridor, clutching a few books to her chest. Harry's face lit up at the sight of her.

"There you are," she said when she too spotted him. "I was just coming to find you."

"Here I am."

"Cedric wanted me to pass along a message," she said. Then she dropped her voice to a whisper as she approached him. "About the Golden Egg."

Harry didn't even care about the Golden Egg in that moment. Okay, maybe he did. But he just wanted to look at her.

Hermione felt herself shiver under the heat of the new way he _looked_ at her now. It was like he could see her soul; it was so disarming. "But we can talk about that later. Tell me, why are _you_ up and about?"

He was still grinning. "I was coming to find _you_ ," he let her know.

"Here I am."

That kept him grinning. "Actually, there was something I wanted to ask you," he said, suddenly feeling very nervous.

"Ask me as we walk. I suspect we're already late for Study Hall by now."

Harry wasn't sure he would be able to get the question out while he walked. Unlike Hermione, he didn't have that kind of skill at multi-tasking.

Before he could even clamp down his thoughts, Hermione was speaking again. "Why do you think Professor McGonagall wants to meet with all the Gryffindors this evening?" she asked curiously. "What do you think it's about?"

Before Harry could open his mouth, another, much louder voice, bellowed down the corridor.

"Potter! Granger! Are you not supposed to be in Study Hall right now?"

Without sticking around to suffer any more of Snape's wrath, Harry and Hermione scurried off to the Great Hall; their conversation temporarily forgotten. Well rather, set aside. Harry doubted he could forget.

* * *

Ron slouched down in his chair beside Harry. This was definitely the last place he wanted to be.

Across the ballroom, all the Gryffindor girls were sitting facing all the boys, clearly also waiting for their Head of House to explain to them just what it was they were all doing there.

While everyone was looking at either Professor McGonagall or Filch and his large gramophone, Harry was looking at Hermione. And she was looking at him. It quickly became apparent that they liked to look each other. Sometimes he would smile, and then she would smile. Or she would smile, and then he would smile. His cheeks would always burn, but he didn't care. He was _looking_ at her, and wasn't she a sight?

Because his eyes were locked on Hermione, Harry missed most of what Professor McGonagall said. Although, it didn't take a genius to figure out why she had gathered the entire house.

The sound of collective grumbling brought him out of his daze and he sat up straight, much like Hermione. He was only vaguely aware of Ron muttering something to him, and then Professor McGonagall was in front of them, silencing his redheaded best friend.

"Mr Weasley," she said, putting her hand out. "Will you join me please?" It wasn't really a request.

Ron swallowed. "Umm."

"Up up," she instructed.

Ron reluctantly rose to his feet, knowing there was nothing he could really say to get out of it. He felt Harry give him a shove but he didn't turn as their Head of House led him into the centre of the room, where _everyone_ could see.

Harry couldn't even enjoy his friend's discomfort. He was looking at Hermione. He felt someone tap on his shoulder. It was Fred. He had to pry his eyes away.

"Mate, we're never letting him forget this," Fred whispered, chuckling. "Ever."

Harry could see Ron with a tentative hand at their Professor's waist, and he had to grin. Someone even let out a cat whistle, which made some of the girls giggle.

"Everybody come together," Professor McGonagall said, and the girls were all up on their feet. "Boys, you too!"

Most of the boys shook their heads, none of them wanting to be the first to stand up. Harry looked at Hermione, who was looking at him, almost daring him to be the first. And he was going to do it; he really was. Only, Neville beat him to it. All the boys watched as Neville - yes, Neville Longbottom - rose from his seat and walked towards one of the girls.

From his position, Harry couldn't see who Neville was asking to dance, because Ron and their Professor were blocking his view. He just hoped it wasn't Hermione.

It wasn't.

After the relief, Harry practically jumped to his feet. Once he was up, a lot of other boys started to stand up as well. Trust Harry to lead the revolt. He headed straight towards Hermione, who was standing next to Angeline Johnson. He came to a stop right in front of the bushy-haired witch and gave her a toothy grin. Then, clearing his throat and bending ever so slightly, he put out his hand. "My lady," he said strongly, even sultrily. "Will you do me the honour of dancing with me, please?"

Hermione positively blushed a deep scarlet, but she accepted his hand any way.

He pulled her towards him as he stepped back. Suddenly, the entire ballroom fell away. He was looking at her and that was all that mattered.

"Try not to step on my toes," Hermione said, as they moved into position.

"I can't make any promises," he said. His smile just wouldn't disappear. "I've never actually danced before."

"Ever?"

"Never had any reason to. Until right now."

While they moved, Harry kept having to look down to watch where his feet landed. At some point, Hermione lifted his chin with her finger, so he would look at her. "Try not to think about it," she said. "Look at me. Trust me."

Harry took a deep breath and did as he was told. He definitely didn't need to be told twice to look at her. He met her gaze and found himself getting lost in the chocolate brown. Gosh, were there eyes this pretty anywhere else? It was like looking into a mud pit; it was drawing him in, drowning him.

"Very nice, Mr Potter, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall commented. "Everyone, watch them."

That made Harry miss a step. He hated it when people looked at him.

"Look at me," Hermione repeated. "Only me."

Harry felt his entire body relax. He was okay. He had Hermione. At some point during their dance, Harry leaned forward and whispered a question into her ear.

After a moment, she whispered her answer back, and even took a moment to breathe in the vanilla and wood smell that surrounded him.

And, of course, at her answer, he missed yet another step.

* * *

"Bloody hell. Bloody hell. Bloody hell."

Harry had to stifle a laugh as he regarded his redheaded best friend. They were again sitting in the Great Hall for Study Hall, this time _with_ Professor Snape. The three of them - Harry, Ron and Hermione - were huddled on one side of the table. It was safer that way.

"Still no date?" Harry asked.

"It's embarrassing," Ron said, sounding dejected. "Honestly. At this rate, we'll be the only ones in our year without a date."

Harry just managed to duck as Snape swiped them with a rolled up piece of parchment. Harry had to hold back a grin. He was feeling too content to let the sour Potions Professor get him down.

"Well, maybe us and Neville," Ron commented.

"Actually," Hermione broke into their hushed conversation. "Neville already has a date."

Ron let out a long sigh. "Bloody hell! Well, now I'm really depressed. I mean, all the good ones are going to be gone. Who else am I supposed to take?"

"You better get a move on then," Harry said, as he dipped his quill in ink to add another sentence to his Potions Essay. He wasn't even sure that what he was writing was making any sense. He looked across Ron to Hermione, who had just managed to return to her own essay. He couldn't mistake the upturning of the edges of her perfect mouth.

Ron muttered something to himself. Then he turned towards the girl sitting to his right. "Say, Hermione," he said, trying to sound endearing. "You're a girl."

Hermione slowly lifted her head, determined to give Ron the benefit of the doubt. She didn't dare look at Harry. "Keen observation skills there, Ronald."

Harry tugged on Ron's arm to warn him of Snape's arrival, but the Professor had already knocked them both on the back of the head with his roll of parchment - that Harry swore had actually doubled in size.

Once Snape was out of earshot, Ron again turned to Hermione. "So...?"

"So, what?"

"Do you, you know, wanna...?" he asked, shrugging. "I mean, it's one thing for a bloke to show up alone, but a girl... that's just sad."

Harry turned away from the confrontation that was surely to occur. He even closed his eyes, but he could hear the irritation and complete animosity in Hermione's voice.

"Well, for your information, Ronald, I won't be going alone because, believe it or not, someone's already asked me." She closed her book and used it to smack him hard on the arm - twice. Then she rose to her feet and walked to hand the book to Snape.

When she returned, Ron still hadn't recovered. "And I said yes!" she practically spat in his face, and then she headed right out of the Hall, leaving both boys in silence.

Ron turned to Harry. "What's up with her?"

Harry just shrugged, glancing up to make sure Snape wasn't anywhere close enough to hear them. "Don't ask me."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"What about Lavender?" Harry offered as he and Ron walked down a corridor towards the Gryffindor common room. "I don't think she has a date yet."

"Who?" Ron asked.

"Lavender Brown. Gryffindor in our year. You know, the girl you actually insulted during Divination a while back. Do you ever pay attention?"

Ron rubbed the back of his head. "I swear, if Professor Snape knocks me on the back of the head one more time, I'm going to lose some valuable brain cells."

Harry couldn't resist the temptation. "Then you'll have a negative number," he said quickly. He laughed so hard at his own joke that he actually had to stop walking and force himself to breathe.

Ron was not impressed. "Mate, your friend here is halfway to freaking out, and you're busy taking the mickey out of me." His eyes widened in panic. "Harry, I don't have a date!"

Harry coughed as he regained his breath. "I'm sorry. I just couldn't resist it." He stood up straight and started to walk again. "And you are totally right. This is very serious. We need to find you a date."

Ron sighed. "I wish you'd tell me who you were taking," he said, pouting. "You and Hermione both. Are you sure you even have a date? Because I'm convinced Hermione's making the whole thing up, mate. How sad is it going to be?"

Harry decided not to comment as they rounded a corner. "I think you should ask Lavender Brown," he declared. "Give it a try. If not, you can just piggyback on my date, and we'll go as a trio. We're going as friends anyway."

"No ways!" Ron said hotly. "That's even sadder than going alone. Bloody hell, Harry."

Harry raised his hands in innocence. "Honestly, Ron, you _are_ running out of options. Find a girl and ask her. There's no time to be choosy."

He let out a long breath. "Fine, I'll do that." They rounded another corner. "Mate, why do you think Hermione isn't telling us who she's going with?"

"She said that you'd make fun of her if she did," Harry reminded him. "Kind of like me, I suspect."

He shook his head. "I'm still convinced that nobody asked her. Honestly, I would have taken her myself, but that one's always been so bloody proud."

Again, Harry decided not to comment. He was, in fact, quite looking forward to the Ball. Not that he would ever admit that to anyone. Well, he might admit it to Hermione but she seemed like the type to understand. And Maybe Neville. Neville would _definitely_ understand.

What Harry was not looking forward to was the first Waltz. As Professor McGonagall suggested, he did practice. Hermione sometimes helped him, but she was focused on her schoolwork mostly. Harry was able to slack because he was exempt from exams, but he sometimes actually studied just so he could sit in Hermione's presence and watch her. Now, that was something Ron would call sad.

Harry didn't care.

"Maybe she's going with Krum," Ron eventually deduced. "I mean, I wouldn't put it past her: fraternising with the enemy. He's probably just using her to get to you, you know? After that First Task, you're definitely a threat."

Harry wanted to tell him to shut up, but they had already reached the common room. Thankfully, Hermione was inside, sitting with her legs tucked under her on the couch, inevitably reading a book. She was even wearing his Quidditch jersey. Bless her.

"I'm going to find Lavender," Ron muttered, and Harry headed straight towards Hermione.

Hermione didn't look up when Harry flopped down onto the couch beside her. Well, not really _beside_ her. He was there, and the only part of her that was touching him was her socked-up toes. But even they could feel his warmth. It was literally radiating off of him. Goodness, there had to be some explanation as to why he was so warm. It wasn't normal.

"I have something for you," Harry said, reaching into his bag and pulling out a single flower. It was a peony, which he slipped onto the book in front of her.

Her immediate response would have been to fling her arms around him, really, but she resisted. Instead, she looked at him and smiled. She shifted her position on the couch so that they were really sitting side by side, dropping her feet to the ground. "Thank you," she said, hooking three of her fingers with three of his. "I don't even want to know where you could have found this in all the snow."

Harry shrugged. "Neville, actually. Apparently Moody pointed him in the direction of some amazing Herbology book. He's been in the Greenhouses with Professor Sprout all week."

Hermione just nodded. "Well, it's very pretty," she concluded, running the fingers of her free hand over the thin green stem.

Harry might have said something cheesy like 'Like you,' but he didn't dare. He really didn't want to be _that_ guy. Instead, he just tugged on her fingers to get her to look at him. "I wish you didn't have to go home," he said softly.

She tugged back. "It's only a few days. I'll be back for the Ball, I promise. I wouldn't dare give Ron the satisfaction of not attending."

Harry grinned at that. "I'm going to hold you to that."

Hermione shivered under his gaze. It was actually a problem. How could one look of his cause a physical reaction? Really? She tightened her grip on his fingers, determined not to let go until she absolutely had to.

Unfortunately, that time arrived sooner than she wished. Suddenly, Ron was bounding towards them, with a goofy smile on his face. Hermione snatched her hand away and tucked it under her thigh. Harry looked a bit lost from the lack of contact.

"She said yes!" Ron said excitedly, dropping down onto the couch beside Harry. "Well, after she made me apologise for being rude to her, and after I'd pretty much gone down on my knees begging; she said yes. I've got a date."

Harry felt a bit awkward sitting between them, with each of them pressed against him. It was uncomfortable and comfortable at the same time. His two favourite people. Really strange. "That's great, Ron," Harry said.

Ron looked across at Hermione. "That just leaves you then, doesn't it?"

Hermione glared at him, returning to her previous position by tucking her legs under her and leaning away from Harry. "I already told you, Ronald, that I have a date."

"Sure you do. The same way Harry here has one too."

Hermione raised an eyebrow in Harry's direction. "You have a date? With who?"

For the most part, Harry had absolutely no idea how to answer this question. He was running out of excuses and having Hermione look at him like that could make any Death Eater reveal all his secrets.

"Oh, umm," he struggled. "A girl, who's a friend."

Hermione seemed satisfied and Ron dropped the subject. Harry leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He wished Hermione would come back and sit at his side again. She was so cool and comforting. As if he wanted to coax her back, he turned to her.

"What did you say that Cedric said about the Egg?" he asked, his voice so low that he wondered if she even heard.

On cue, much to Harry's delight, she returned to her position beside him. Although, this time, she kept her fingers to herself. "He mentioned repaying a favour," she said, leaning in to Harry so that both boys could hear her. "Did you tell him about the dragons?"

Harry nodded and the look she gave him made him think that she wanted to eat him. But in a good way. He closed his eyes to stop from squirming. What the hell was going on with him?

Hermione continued. "He mentioned something about the Prefects' bathroom on the fifth floor. How it's a great place to take a bath."

"The pervert," Ron muttered.

Hermione managed a smile. "Well, he suggested you pay it a visit, with, umm, your Egg. Whatever that means."

Harry spent a moment thinking about that. Then he looked at her. "You probably already know what it means, don't you?"

She couldn't stop her blush, hating the fact that she was _such_ a girl. "I have an idea. And it's probably best that the two of you handle it once the Castle's emptied out a bit for Christmas."

Both boys' eyes bulged at that.

"Wait," Ron mumbled.

Hermione let out an incredulous breath as she shook her head. "Honestly, can the two of you do nothing for yourselves?"

They both shook their heads.

Even though she acted like she was angry and irritated, she was actually quite pleased. Knowing that Harry needed her was everything. Well, almost everything. Knowing that he _wanted_ her would be _everything._

And then some.

* * *

On the night of the Yule Ball, Harry returned from the bathroom with his toothbrush and toiletry bag in hand, to find Ron studying himself in the mirror. They were actually both surprised by what the other was wearing.

"What are those?" Ron asked, staring at the smart black dress robes that Harry was wearing.

"What are _those_?" Harry asked, staring at the... frills. "You're wearing lace."

"Don't point it out!"

Harry stifled a laugh. "I'm sorry," he said. "It's just, well, that, I didn't expect you to look..."

"Like an old lady?"

Harry nodded, grinning. "It's uncanny."

Ron huffed, finally accepting what was to be. "This is going to be the worst night ever."

Harry put this things away before they left the dormitory. Harry ran his tongue over his teeth. They felt clean. His breath was fresh. Not that it mattered, really. He expected he wouldn't be doing much else with his mouth other than talking.

"Stop fidgeting with it," Harry said, smacking the back of Ron's hand away from where he was fiddling with his... bonnet. "Leave it!"

"Am I making it worse?"

Harry didn't think Ron would appreciate his answer.

Lavender was already in front of the Great Hall by the time Ron and Harry arrived. Ron had to admit that she looked quite lovely. Harry agreed. Her dress even matched Ron's. That remark earned Harry a punch to the arm but he didn't regret it.

Professor McGonagall was hanging about the entrance to the Hall, ushering the late comers through the doors. Her eyes bulged at the sight of Ron, which made Harry put a hand on the poor boy's shoulder, whispering to him.

"Look at you, you're even attracting the other old ladies with your getup."

Ron shot him a glare before Professor McGonagall sent him and Lavender into the Hall, leaving Harry in a fit of laughter..

"And where's your date, Mr Potter?" Professor McGonagall asked him.

"I don't know, Professor," he admitted, suddenly becoming solemn. "But she promised she would be here."

The Professor regarded him kindly. She - they all - had to remember that he was still just a boy. "Well, line up so long. I think we can wait a few minutes for her to arrive."

Harry was relieved by that, as he took his place behind Cedric and his date, Cho. Harry was shorter than both of them, which would have made him laugh if he wasn't shaking from nervousness. It was almost time.

Cedric turned to look at Harry. "Going _stag_ , hey, Harry?"

Harry wanted to be irritated, even annoyed. He even wanted to be worried that she wouldn't show up. But he couldn't. He was nervous and excited, and all he wanted to do was look at her.

It was Cho's gasp that caught nearly every Champion's attention. Particularly Harry's.

"She's so beautiful," Cho said, somewhat under her breath.

Harry followed Cho's gaze towards the Grand staircase, and there she was. Clad in the most perfect blue. Harry's face broke into a wide smile, splitting his face. And he was quite sure that his heart stopped. Not because she looked amazingly beautiful - because she definitely did - but because she was looking at _him_. Her eyes were twinkling as she walked, steadily and accomplished.

"Go and get her," Cedric whispered.

So Harry did. He moved towards the bottom of the stairs and waited. When she reached the bottom, he put out his hand and gave her the biggest grin he could manage. His eyes practically disappeared. "My lady," he whispered. "You look positively dashing this evening."

Hermione took hold of his hand, blushing at his words. This boy. "Were you worried?" she had to ask.

"A little," he admitted.

"I made a promise, didn't I? It was all part of my plan."

"To be fashionably late?"

She laughed. "Maybe. Maybe not."

Harry used his hold on her hand to pull her towards him. Her scent was unmistakable. Peonies. That made him smile. Had he even managed to stop since he laid eyes on her?

"I think they're waiting for us," Hermione said nervously, glancing to a spot behind him.

"I don't care," he said, not taking his eyes off of her. "Let them wait. I haven't seen you for days. I _have_ to look at you."

Hermione could feel his eyes on her like his gaze was actually touching her. She wouldn't be able to describe it even if she tried. All she knew was she liked it. Well, once she got through the initial shiver. At least it was her face that he was looking at.

"Mr Potter, Miss Granger, if you would join us please?" Professor McGonagall called to them. "You'll have plenty of time to talk on the dance floor."

Harry hid his burning cheeks quite well as he guided Hermione back into the line behind Cedric and Cho. The girls shared a moment where they both gushed at each other's dresses. Both Cedric and Harry just rolled their eyes, which made both girls laugh.

"We're leading in," Fleur called from in front of them.

With that, Cedric and Cho returned to facing forward and Harry offered Hermione his arm, which she gratefully took, wrapping her arm in such warmth.

"You okay?" Harry whispered, leaning into her.

Hermione merely nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She was here, with _him_. Harry Potter. Her best friend... who she now really liked to look at, and hook her fingers with.

Right before they entered the Hall, Harry leaned into her once more. "Merry Christmas, my dear Hermione."

Hermione could only describe what she was feeling as happiness. Pure, unabashed happiness. She must have let out some form of squeal because Harry turned to look at her as they entered the Hall, walking through a crowd of students like some kind of procession. He didn't take his eyes off of her, even as they took their positions on the dance floor.

Harry expertly moved into the dance pose, his right hand holding her waist and his left holding her hand up in the air somewhere to the left of him. He couldn't quite see their clasped hands in his periphery and he wasn't going to look.

"Are you nervous?" Hermione whispered, as they waited for the music to start.

"I was," he admitted. "But you're here now."

"I know it kind of goes without saying right now, but don't forget to look at me. I'm quite a fan of my toes."

He nodded. "I won't hurt you, Hermione," he said, his voice cutting through any defenses she might have had.

If she were any other person, and if he were any other person, and if they weren't currently standing in a room surrounded by their peers; Hermione might have kissed him. Really. It was the first time she allowed herself to have such a thought, and she quickly pushed it out of her mind. Now was not the time to turn into a blundering mess of hormones. They had to dance!

Surprisingly, Harry managed to get through the dance without putting a single foot wrong. Hermione gave him a tight hug at the end to tell him just how proud she was. Harry's smile was sheepish at best. Hugs from Hermione were starting to take on a different meaning to him.

Harry and Hermione had to sit at the Champions' Table for their meal. After a short speech from Barty Crouch, Professor Dumbledore declared the feast open. The food that was presented was quite incredible, and the setup of the Hall was incredible, and the girl sitting to his left was incredible. He didn't think he could have stopped smiling if he tried.

At a certain point, she leaned into him. "You reckon Ron is freaking out right now?" she asked softly.

Harry couldn't help it; his mind took him to a dark place. "Is that the reason you agreed to accompany me?" he found himself asking.

Hermione looked right into his eyes, her hand even leaning on his thigh to get the truth of her words across to him. "No, definitely not," she said seriously. "But it's obviously a perk, isn't it?"

That made him smile. And relax. He was determined to have a good time. Between the two of them, they were able to locate Ron in amongst the tables. They shared a short, lighthearted chuckle at the scowl on their friend's face. It disappeared eventually though. Ron wouldn't let anything get in between him and endless food.

Harry and Hermione spent most of their meal in conversation with Cedric and Cho. Then, all too soon - at least according to Harry - the meal ended, the dance floor cleared and The Weird Sisters took the stage, filling the Hall with music.

Harry's nerves started to kick in again. It was strange, really. In all his years, he'd never actually been nervous about Hermione. How things were changing. His mind kept racing through all the ways he could end up messing this whole thing up. That was the last thing he wanted to happen. He needed her. Oh, who was he kidding, he desperately _wanted_ her. He didn't want to do anything to ruin it.

Hermione didn't have any of those reservations. It was all a little too good to be true. So, keeping her wits about her, she grabbed hold of his hand, pulled him up and dragged him to the dance floor. Harry let her. All he'd really wanted to do since she left for home was look at her again. It wasn't even that he wanted to touch her or dance with her - which were all perfectly acceptable - he just _needed_ to see her.

Harry had considered how unhealthy that really was, if he really thought about it. His happiness, his mood, his everything suddenly felt like it was wrapped up in Hermione, and he couldn't even really pinpoint how or when that had happened.

But he didn't even care. Because there she was and they were looking at each other, and they were smiling and dancing and singing at the top of their lungs. And he couldn't possibly imagine being with any other person in that moment. He honestly couldn't have felt happier.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Harry would have given every Galleon in his vault for the night not to end. He felt electric, like every nerve in his body was pulsing. Everything just seemed possible to him. Everything.

Even as he stood at the drinks counter and watched Hermione talk excitedly with the Patil sisters, he felt it. Tonight, anything was possible. He could feel it in his bones.

"Seriously, mate, aren't your feet like totally killing you?" Ron asked, approaching Harry from his right. "I swear, if Lavender drags me to the dance floor one more time, mine might fall off."

Harry took his time turning his head away from Hermione to look at Ron. "You really can't be complaining about this," he said, smiling at his friend.

"Watch me," Ron muttered. "Are you getting drinks?"

Harry nodded, turning back to the counter. "Just ordered. You said you wanted a Butterbeer, yeah?"

Ron nodded. "Maybe two."

Harry smirked. "What'd you say if I ordered you three?"

Ron beamed. "I'd kiss you."

Harry must have looked horrified because Ron burst out laughing.

He put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Although, I get the feeling I'm not the best friend you want kissing you tonight," he said, observing Harry's eagerness to look back at their mutual girl best friend.

Harry felt his cheeks burn. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Ron shook his head, leaning one elbow on the counter. "You could have just told me you were taking Hermione, you know? I mean, I definitely would have taken the mickey out of you, but you still could have told me."

"We're just friends, you know?" Harry felt he had to say. This entire conversation was bringing to light some things that he quite preferred to have exist somewhere in the back of his brain.

"Sure you are," Ron humoured him. "I wish my _friends_ looked at me the way she looks at you."

Harry returned his attention to Hermione who, quite comically, was actually looking at him. He blushed almost instantly, and Hermione looked away.

Thankfully, Ron didn't catch any of it, as the man behind the counter finally brought out their drinks. Between the two boys, they managed to get the trays back to the table the lot of them had claimed. When they weren't dancing, the table was a base for Harry and Hermione, Ron and Lavender, Neville and Ginny, as well as the Patil sisters and their dates, Dean and Seamus.

As soon as Harry set down the tray of drinks on the table, Hermione grabbed his hand and dragged him back to the dance floor, a somewhat wild look in her eyes. She was excited and uninhibited. From the get go, he'd appeared eager so she was going to use it to her full advantage. This was a side to her she was sure he hadn't even known existed. She hoped he liked it.

He did. And he loved the joy on her face. He didn't even care if it had nothing to do with him.

"Where did you learn to dance like this?" he asked over the music, having to shout a little so she could hear him.

"My mum," she yelled back. "And I did ballet when I was little."

That was news to him.

"Just don't tell Ron," she added. "He'll never let me forget it."

Harry took hold of her hands and pulled her towards him and then they parted again. He twirled her, reveling in the sweet sound of her laugh. "Am _I_ allowed to tease you?" he asked, still having to shout.

"I don't think you could," she let him know.

Harry exaggerated a gasp, pulling her back towards him. This time, though, he didn't send her away. His hands held hers and the entire room fell away. She was so close. "You take that back," he said, his eyes boring into hers.

She could feel his breath on her cheek. It was a mixture of mint and Butterbeer, hot against her skin. She didn't know why she did it but she started to shake her head. "No." Then, steeling all her courage, she placed a soft and quick kiss on the tip of his nose, and then returned to dancing as if nothing had happened.

Harry was so shocked, he was frozen in place for a good few seconds. He had a quick look around to check if anyone had seen and he kind of hoped that someone had, just so he would know that it had _actually_ happened. If his nose wasn't still tingling, he'd imagine it hadn't. Hermione was giving him no indication that the act even resonated with her.

Oh, but it did. Her insides were literally exploding with excitement. And the look on his face wasn't helping. After he got over the initial shock, he smiled a smile she'd never seen before, and she had been quite certain she knew every single one of Harry Potter's smiles. This one was number six, and she even allowed herself the selfish thought that the smile was for her.

Harry was able to pull through and finish the dance before they headed back to the table for their drinks.

"Ronald!" Hermione barked. "Honestly, three Butterbeers wasn't enough, you had to drink ours as well?"

From his seat, Ron looked the least bit rattled. He just shrugged. "You were dancing."

"Why, I ought to -" she stopped suddenly, as Harry put an arm around her waist, pulling her back, invariably stopping her from attacking their redheaded best friend. "Harry," she breathed. "I wasn't really going to hurt him, you know? It's just about the principle."

He didn't release her. "It's Ron, Hermione. There's no principle when he's concerned."

"You two do know that I can hear you, right?" Ron said, raising his eyebrows. "I'm still sitting right here."

Harry looked at him. "Why are you sitting there? Where's Lavender?"

He shrugged. "Don't know. I got tired. I guess she found some other sap to dance with."

Hermione, however reluctantly, removed herself from Harry's grip and moved towards the seated boy. "Come on. Dance one dance with us. Kind of like a Golden Trio super bash, or something ridiculous like that!"

Ron looked surprised. "Huh?" He looked at Harry, who just put his hands out as if to say _what the girl says, goes._ Ron jumped to his feet. "You know what. All right. Totally."

They danced a rather upbeat number, standing in a neat triangle, until several others joined them. Eventually, they were all dancing in a big group but, even then, nothing could get Harry to stop looking at Hermione.

When the Weird Sisters announced that they were nearing the last song of the night, their group disbanded and the trio shuffled their way back to the table. Before any of them sat down, Ron announced that he was going to get them drinks and he headed off. Harry didn't feel like sitting down, mainly because he wasn't sure he would be able to stand up again if he did.

"Will you dance the last dance with me?" Harry found himself asking Hermione.

She smiled at him. "I think that goes without saying, Harry."

"I still had to ask. A gentleman never assumes."

"You reckon you're a gentleman then?"

He blinked. "Don't you think I am?" When she didn't answer, he stepped towards her. "Did I tell you how beautiful you look?"

She shook her head. "I think the exact words you used were, umm 'positively dashing.'"

"Well, you do. So beautiful. Kind of like a slap in the face beautiful, you know. Like, it hurts to look at you but I just can't help it. Do you know, Hermione, just how it feels to be able to look at you?"

Hermione was sure her entire face resembled a tomato at this point. He had to know what he saying now. And he was saying them with such ease, so steadily like it was just normal for him to turn her insides to jelly with such endearing sentiment.

"I feel privileged," Harry continued. "Like I'm in on the secret somehow. This rare gem."

Hermione wanted to tell him to stop. He was embarrassing her. But his gaze was so severe, she wasn't sure what she _could_ say to get him to stop.

He moved towards her, intent clear on his face. Really, for a moment, Harry panicked at the thought that he might do a crazy thing and kiss her right there, but he just managed not to. He stopped right in front of her, suddenly afraid to touch her.

Hermione didn't even realise she was holding her breath until the Weird Sisters called for the last dance. Before he could say anything, she linked her arm with his and led them to the dance floor. Somehow, it felt safer on the dance floor. Whatever he wanted to say or do couldn't be said or done on the dance floor.

The last dance was a slow one of course, which allowed for _a lot_ of eye contact. Neither of them spoke. The dance just felt too precious to interrupt with nonsensical murmurs. There would be time to talk later.

When the song ended, the leftover people in the Great Hall applauded the Weird Sisters quite loudly. They really had put on a good show. After a while, the Professors starting ushering students back to the common rooms. It was already well after midnight and Harry had to admit that he was feeling rather tired.

That, however, did not stop him from dragging out the night as much as he possibly could. It was how he and Hermione ended up on the couch opposite the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room with three fingers hooked as they sat side by side. They weren't alone in the common room, what with people still buzzing from the Ball.

"I got you a Christmas present," Harry said, his voice barely audible to those around them.

Hermione turned to look at him, feeling a bit embarrassed. "You do know that when I gave you that book before I went home; I didn't do it because I expected a gift back, right?"

"I know," he assured her. "I _wanted_ to get you something." He took the opportunity to dig in his trouser pocket. "It has a box. I, umm, just took it out so it could fit in my pocket without being all bulky and noticeable. He held out his hand, his fist clenched around the object. "Now, Hogsmeade is pretty useless for Christmas gifts so I asked Professor McGonagall to get it for me when she went to Diagon Alley. I really hope you like it."

Hermione stared at his hand as he opened his hand to reveal a silver chain in his palm.

Harry released her fingers he was holding to pick up and show her the pendant. It was a small broomstick. "Don't get weird about it," he said, smiling slightly. "It's just that you're now the leader of the _Potter_ fan club and I need you to represent it well."

"Oh Harry," she whispered, suddenly feeling really emotional.

"Here, can I put it on?" he asked.

Hermione shifted her - thankfully, somewhat tamed - hair out of the way and Harry was able to clasp the chain around her neck, his fingers absently brushing over her exposed skin.

"There we go," he said, placing the pendant in position at the hollow of her neck. He allowed his eyes to linger for a moment, satisfied. "Do you like it? I mean, I guess it's quite cheesy. You don't have to wear it if you don't want to. I just wanted to see how it would look. I think it looks qu -"

"I love it," she said, cutting into his descending monologue. "Honestly, I do. Thank you. But you know you didn't have to."

"I wanted to," he assured her. "I, uh, wanted to let you know how much I really do _appreciate_ you." He took a breath. "And, umm, how much I adore you."

Hermione masked her surprise well, but she could barely hold it together when he leaned in to kiss her cheek and then he whispered sweet, tender words against her skin.

"Because I do, Hermione. I _adore_ you."

* * *

"Did Hermione really say she'd meet us here?" Ron asked, looking around as if he and Harry weren't actually the only two people in the Prefects' bathroom on the fifth floor.

Harry just nodded, as he removed his pullover, revealing that he was wearing nothing else underneath.

"What the hell are you doing?" Ron asked, looking horrified. "You're not actually getting _naked,_ are you?"

Harry gave him a sideways look. "Well, it _is_ a bath, Ron." At his friend's expression, Harry burst out laughing. "Merlin, of course not," he said, continuing to laugh. "Hermione's coming." Then he had a thought. "but if it were just the two of us, I'd definitely reconsider."

Ron shuddered. "You keep joking about that; one day you're going to mean it," he said, unable to contain his smile. "I reckon I'm quite the catch, mind you."

"You definitely have your moments," Hermione said, coming up behind Ron.

The sound of her voice shocked both boys and Harry nearly dropped his pullover into the water. She met his gaze and smiled, and he was the one who almost ended up in the water.

"Where's the Egg?" Hermione asked, slipping her feet out of her bathroom slippers.

"Right here," Ron said, his voice shaky. "Just waiting. Holding secrets."

Harry just shook his head. Whenever Hermione looked at him, he found himself feeling self-conscious. He suddenly regretted not wearing a vest like Ron was. He wasn't really leaving much to the imagination, was he?

"Let's hurry," Hermione said. "Right now, Filch is on the other side of the Castle. We're safe for now." She set the Marauder's Map aside and began to remove her robe.

Ron climbed into the water first, wincing at the warmth of the water. Harry waited for Hermione to disrobe, revealing a tank top and shorts, before he climbed into the bath as well. He tried not to look at her, even though that was becoming his past time. It was just that he didn't remember ever seeing so much skin.

Ron handed the Egg to Harry and then both boys turned expectantly to Hermione, who was just settling into the warmth of the water.

She just managed not to roll her eyes. "Well, put it in the water then."

Harry did as instructed, submerging the Egg. He opened its top and was relieved when they didn't hear that horrid screeching that normally sounded from the opening of the Egg.

"Should we go under?" Ron asked.

At Hermione's nod, all three of them ducked their heads under the water to hear something rather pleasant: singing voices. Hermione stayed down the longest, committing the song to memory.

"That was weird and creepy and awesome all at the same time," Ron said once Hermione emerged. "And horrible, I suppose. I mean, I'm guessing those were merpeople, right?"

Both Harry and Hermione nodded.

"Are there merpeople in the Black Lake?" Harry asked Hermione.

She nodded. "I think you're going to have to go into the lake to retrieve something that they'll take from you."

"I remember something about an hour," Ron said, shifting some bubbles aside in the water. "How the bloody hell is a person supposed to stay under water for an hour?"

Harry looked to Hermione. "'Too late, it's gone, it won't come back,'" he recited the final line of the merpeople's song.

She wanted to reach for his hand under the water, but he was too far away. "We'll figure it out."

* * *

"We could just use a really, really long straw," Ron suggested as he sat with his back against the far wall of the classroom they used to prepare for the Tasks. "Honestly, it's the only viable thing we've got right now."

"You're not helping, Ronald," Hermione said from her position at a table, poring over yet another another book that wouldn't give them any answers.

Harry was lying on the floor in the centre of the room, staring at the ceiling, deep in thought. He couldn't get over the sensation of his scar burning. It was blinding, sending ripples of pain through ever nerve in his body. He just wished he had an explanation as to why it happened. He'd mentioned the nightmares to Hermione but even she saw no sense in thinking they in any way represented a truth. But then again, this was the girl who thought Divination was utter rubbish.

Just then, Ron got to his feet and started to walk towards the door. "Look, mate, I'm all for your not dying and all but I don't think I'm of much use here. I'm going to go see if any of the boys want to play a game of chess."

Harry just held his arm up to acknowledge Ron's departure as he continued to stare at the ceiling, as if it held all the answers to his questions. It didn't, of course, but it was a comforting thought.

"What are you thinking about?" Hermione asked after a while.

His eyes didn't move from the ceiling. "The Tasks are designed to test us in the cruelest ways. They're brutal. I guess I'm a bit worried. I'm pretty sure I got through the first one by sheer dumb luck, really." He took a troubled breath. "We can't do that now. We need a sure fire plan. I need to be able to breathe under water for at least an hour."

"I already told you that we'll figure it out," she said, feeling like he needed to be reminded. He sometimes went dark and turned broody. Especially after a nightmare. She needed to bring him back. To her.

"How can you be so sure?" he asked.

"Because I promised that I would do everything I possibly could to make sure you survived, remember?"

He sat up to look at her, his eyes telling her that he knew that couldn't be the only reason. There was something else. He could hear it in the shakiness of her voice.

There was definitely more. She just didn't think she was quite ready to say it out loud and, from the look of things, he had far more to worry about than her feelings on the matter entirely. There was time. She'd tell him eventually.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Harry couldn't mistake the look of worry on Hermione's face. It was etched into her features as she read, still trying to find a way for him to breathe under water for an hour. He could tell she was determined. He wondered which one of them would be more grief-stricken if they failed.

With just a day to go before the Champions descended on the Black Lake, Harry was feeling as desperate as ever. He'd just received a letter from Sirius. It didn't say very much, just wished him good luck on the Second Task, and to be careful. How he wished he'd discovered the contents of the Egg sooner so he could have consulted Sirius. It just seemed terribly unfair that he couldn't ask a teacher for help.

It was just Harry and Hermione in the classroom. Ron was probably off playing chess somewhere, but it didn't really matter because they all doubted _he_ would be the one to figure out what Harry had to do. Particularly Ron.

The two of them were sitting at a table with books, parchment and quills between them but nothing was really happening. Harry was even toying with his pencil, trying to perform a trick with the fingers of his right hand.

"There you go again distracting me," Hermione said, letting out a long breath. She moved the book she was studying aside and absently reached for the hollow of her neck and played with the broomstick pendant between her fingers. It was a habit of hers now.

"At least I'm not looking at you," he muttered, dropping his pencil on the table.

Hermione made a point of looking at him. "That's true. Why _aren't_ you looking at me?"

Harry stopped fiddling with his pencil, still not looking at her. "Did I overwhelm you?" he asked. "Did I say too much, or do too much?"

"What? No. What makes you think that?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I'm just, you know, worried. This whole thing, the Tasks, the clues, you, survival, winning. I guess my little boy brain is just struggling with it all."

"Don't think I missed how you just clumped me in with all those other, more frightening things," she said, a slight smile on her lips.

"Purposefully," he admitted. "Sorry, but you do kind of frighten me."

Hermione was going to query him further but she was stopped by the sound of the classroom door opening. Ron stepped through, with a quite mischievous look on his face. "Oh no."

"Tell me you love me," Ron said, mainly to Harry. "Tell me I'm literally the most important person in your life right now."

Harry couldn't even contain his laughter. "You know, Ron, we keep this up and people are really going to start to think we're a real couple."

Ron just shrugged. "You could do worse."

"What's up with you?" Hermione asked, noticing that his smile turned to excited.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he asked, clearly enjoying being able to drag it out. "You were enjoying goading me for playing chess, weren't you? Well, I'll have you know that I figured out a way to keep Harry alive."

He definitely had their undivided attention now.

"Okay, not really me. Neville did. But I was playing chess with him so I can take some credit." Ron moved further into the classroom to stand over their table. "I may or may not have mentioned our predicament. And, before you kick me, let me just tell you that our main man has a solution."

"He does?" Harry asked.

Ron nodded. "Some kind of plant, I think. He's waiting for us now."

Harry and Hermione were already on their feet. Ron led the way out of the room, through the corridors. It was in one of them that they met up with Fred and George. They looked like their whimsical selves, even though they seemed quite reluctant to do whatever it is they were about to.

"What's up with you two?" Ron asked.

"Nothing," they said in unison.

"Professor McGonagall is looking for Hermione is all," Fred said. "Sent us to find her."

Hermione frowned, thinking hard about what she could have done to get the Professor's attention. It was probably about Harry. "Is she in her classroom?" Hermione asked, easily stepping away from Harry.

"Should be," George said.

Harry looked at Hermione. "Should we wait for you?"

She spent a moment thinking about it, tempted to say yes. The look of impatience on Ron's face swayed her. "No, you two go on. I don't know how long this will take. I'll catch up."

The four boys watched her head off before the twins accompanied the two fourth years back to the Gryffindor common room. Harry couldn't fight the uneasy feeling rising in his gut. He didn't like being away from Hermione. It filled him with anxiety, and he was already anxious enough.

Except, Neville's solution to his problem seemed, at the very least, viable. Well, it beat out everything they had already considered. Thankfully, Dobby knew where they could find the _gillyweed_ substance. Sorry, yes Neville, it's a plant. And that was that. There wasn't a whole lot of it, so Harry didn't have the chance to test it out before hand. He was sure Hermione would be dismayed by that.

Speaking of Hermione. Like the night before the First Task, Harry was sure he wouldn't be able to sleep. He was too anxious. He waited in the Gryffindor common room, on _their_ couch until late. She didn't arrive. Something must have happened. He even checked the Marauder's Map. There was no sign of her, which merely aggravated the hole that was developing within him.

By the time the sun began to peek over the hills, Harry hadn't slept a wink. When he deemed it relatively decent of an hour, he headed out to locate Professor McGonagall. Finding her was easy enough, really. They were practically the only two people in the Great Hall for breakfast at such an obscene hour. What he didn't expect was the way she dismissed him. She was rather brash about it, which had never happened. In all his years, she was the one Professor he could always turn to.

From the look on his face, Professor McGonagall recoiled. "Sorry, Potter," she said kindly. "I wouldn't want to say anything that could get either of us in trouble. Just know that she is fine and that, yes, it does concern the Task."

Her response didn't do much to calm him down but he accepted it. It quickly became apparent to him that whatever he would be retrieving from the Black Lake was probably the _most_ important thing to him.

He just wished that nobody else had known.

* * *

When Harry arrived at the Black Lake, Neville practically ran to meet him, his excitement and nervousness propelling him forward. The two of them crossed to the stands erected in the water in a canoe they shared with Luna and Ginny. Nobody really spoke. After everything that happened with the dragon, they were sure this Task wouldn't be any easier for Harry.

The Champions would be taking off from the middle of the three stands, so Neville guided them to the deck, and Harry came out of his reverie long enough to haul himself onto the wooden panels. Mr Crouch met the Champions, with Dumbledore, and informed them that the event would be commencing shortly.

Harry stared out at the Lake, feeling the coolness of the sticky plant in the palm of his hand. He was nervous and determined. If Hermione was indeed in that water; he was going to do _everything_ he possibly could to get her.

One hour. He had one hour to find her. That should be enough time, right?

"Harry?"

He turned slowly, to see Ron emerge from a crowd of students, looking rather perplexed.

"You're here," Ron said, sounding strangely relieved. "Did you even have breakfast, mate?"

Harry shook his head no.

"I waited for you in the common room, but then I figured you would make your way down with Hermione. Where is she, by the way?"

Harry didn't respond, as he returned to looking out at the Lake. He gave a little shake of his head and Ron clicked.

There was a sharp intake of breath. "No? They wouldn't?"

"I think that we're all a little past trying to figure out how far they'd actually go," Harry muttered. He was angry and irritated. Why did Hermione have to be punished for being friends with him? It wasn't fair to any of them.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered under his breath, even though he could quite understand why it was Hermione who was chosen above all else. This was definitely not something about which he was jealous. Ron put a hand on Harry's shoulder. He wanted to make a humorous comment, just to ease his friend's mind but he was almost sure Harry wouldn't appreciate it. Through his fingers, Ron could feel the tension in Harry's shoulder.

"Okay, attention!" Dumbledore announced, drawing the attention of all who had accumulated for the main event. "We're ready to begin."

To Harry's right, Moody came into view. "Put that in your mouth right now," he said harshly.

So Harry did. The _gillyweed_ tasted repugnant, and it burned his throat as it slid down in pieces. Quite suddenly, Harry's body began to jerk. Something was happening. Something awful and painful.

At the sound of the canon, Harry stumbled towards the edge of the water. Out of habit, really, he took a deep breath, and then dove into the water. If the plant didn't work, he'd die trying. It was that simple.

Once in the water, he continued to hold his breath, even as the sharp pain in his neck ceased. As he propelled himself forward, he became aware of the fact that his toes and fingers were webbed. Huh.

Allowing himself a moment to marvel, he stopped to stare. Then he decided to take a breath. "Wicked!" he said to himself before he set off again, only one thing on his mind.

Harry swam downwards, figuring that wherever the merpeople _lived_ would be on the bottom surface of the Lake. He had to swim through the longest seaweed he had ever seen and he only narrowly avoided an encounter with a Grindylow.

In the distance, he spotted another contestant. And then he heard what he suspected was a scream, but he tried not to pay too much attention as he continued wading through the water.

Hermione. You need to find Hermione.

On instinct, he decided to go in the direction his near-encounter had gone. If they were indeed guarding something; wouldn't it have returned there? He wasn't mistaken, and he swam into an opening that revealed four very still bodies held in position by rope. It was a eerie sight, and Harry felt his insides churn. How could this be okay?

Harry immediately swam towards Hermione and touched her cold face with his still semi-warm hands. She was fine. She was here. He dropped down to where her foot was tied and used his wand to free her. The moment she was released, Harry wanted to go. He wanted to take her up the surface and keep her safe for all of eternity. This wasn't what she asked for.

But something nagging on his brain stopped him. He turned to his right to see three still bodies. He recognised them as Fleur's little sister, Cho and Krum's date from the Ball. He couldn't just leave them, could he? Where were the other Champions? Were they coming? Would they make it in time? The last line of the merpeople's song kept playing in his mind: _Too late, it's gone, it won't come back._

Harry's heart rate started to pick up, his mind struggling with what to do. In the time he spent frozen in contemplation, he was sure that he and Hermione could have already broken the surface. But then this wasn't about winning to him, was it? It was about surviving.

He contemplated swimming up to the surface with Hermione, and then possibly coming back? He needed to make sure that Hermione was safe, but with it came a whole host of more questions. What would happen when he reached the surface? Would they even allow him to come back down? How long would that take?

Without another thought, Harry drew his wand once more. But before he could utter the word to free any other hostage, he was surrounded by merpeople, who looked positively murderous.

"Only one," one of them hissed, pressing a golden trident against Harry's chest.

"I can't just leave them," Harry found he was able to say.

"Only one."

Harry thought about his options. It would be impossible to save them all. And it was a good thing he didn't have to. Cedric arrived to free Cho, and looked puzzled that Harry was still waiting around. The Hufflepuff indicated to the watch on his wrist, urging Harry to get a move on.

Harry just nodded. Somehow, he had to devise a plan to get them all to safety. Thankfully, the arrival of Krum with a shark's head - how apt - saved Harry from having to fight for three. Somehow, he knew that Fleur wasn't coming. He was sure of it. _Too late, it's gone, it won't come back._

He still had to fight for two.

Harry held Hermione tight in his one arm and just managed to get Fleur's little sister free. Harry didn't even check to see if another merpeople army would descend on him as he kicked with all he could, guiding the two still bodies upwards.

His serenity didn't last nearly as long as he wished. Quite instantly, he was swarmed by merpeople, who pulled on him, trying to drag him back down. As much as he fought, he wasn't strong enough to keep them at bay. Whether he was being selfless or if he was just giving up, he didn't know; but he let go of the girls and propelled them upwards as hard as he could, needing them to get to safety as he was dragged down further and further into the depths of the black water.

Harry fought a good fight, even through the sharp pain in his neck. Harry knew he would have to stop breathing eventually; his ability to breathe under water was quickly diminishing. He didn't think he even had the willpower to hold his breath.

Somehow, he managed to get to his wand and uttered one last, tired spell. A hex of some sort; he was sure he wouldn't remember. The merpeople were blasted away before they all swam homeward in a hurry.

Harry blinked a few times, the truth of his life hitting him in full force. It would have been easy to just stay where he was, sinking down to the pits of the Lake. It would have been so simple to end it all. If he stayed where he was, he wouldn't have to live through the rest of his life being Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. He would just be the unfortunate fourteen-year-old who never emerged from the Lake.

What did he really have to live for?

The first thing that came to mind was Hermione. And then Ron. He thought of Sirius and the family he might have one day. He was down in the water for a reason, and he strongly suspected that reason had something to with Voldemort. If Harry died, he wouldn't have to face him. If Harry died, this would be it. He could go and be with his parents. It's what he'd always wanted.

But dying now would make his mother's sacrifice count for nothing. And Harry knew that she wouldn't want him to give up, no matter how difficult the life he was living got. So, mustering all the strength he had left, he pointed his wand upwards.

" _Ascendio_."

For a while, nothing happened.

And Harry was oddly okay with that.

Meanwhile, every eye was watching the surface of the water above, waiting on the stands. When Hermione and Gabrielle Delacour had emerged, the cheers for Harry had been triumphant, but they quickly turned to murmurs of worry. Where was he?

Hermione stared at the water from her position on the deck, her eyes desperately searching for him. He had to emerge. He _had_ to. She hadn't even managed to tell him how much she adored him. He had to emerge so that she could. If she'd ever had a more selfish thought, she didn't even know.

Ron stood next to her, waiting anxiously for their best friend. "He's coming," he found himself saying, if not reassuring her but himself. "He's coming."

Just then, a spark shot out from the water's surface, and then Harry did emerge, even flying through the air and landing hard on the wooden deck below them. The boy didn't move and Hermione felt her heart lift up into her throat.

Ron started to move first, desperate to get to his best friend. Some of the teachers descended around Harry. It took a painful whack on Harry's back by Moody to get the young Gryffindor coughing out the pint of water he'd consumed. Harry was shivering when he sat up, his eyes already searching for her.

Hermione pushed through the crowd that formed, dropping to her knees in front of him. She didn't even care what it would look like when she flung her arms around him. She appreciated the fact that she was still dripping wet because it allowed her to hide the tears of her fear.

Harry made a pained sound and she was forced to release him.

"Sorry," she said, leaning back, and allowing Fleur Delacour to claim Harry's attention. Hermione just caught the French girl's rushed and highly emotional thank you for saving her little sister. Then the Champion placed two strong kisses on each of Harry's cheeks, and the boy turned bright red, even though he was still shivering.

Seamus put another towel around Harry's shoulders and Hermione helped him fix it into place, closing it around him. She couldn't resist pulling him into another hug, clinging to him.

"That was admirable, Harry. Stupid and reckless, but admirable," she said.

"It doesn't even matter," he said, his teeth chattering. "I finished last."

She kissed the top of his head, wet hair and all. She didn't care. "On the contrary, Harry. You finished third actually. Fleur didn't finish, remember? And I thought we were just trying to get you to survive. It wasn't about winning?"

He grinned at her. "Were you worried?" he asked. "It was all part of my plan, you know?"

She gave him a look. "To be fashionably late?"

He just laughed as she helped him get to his feet.

"You know, you didn't quite tell me why I frighten you," she pointed out once they were standing facing each other.

He met her gaze. "You're what I'd sorely miss, Hermione. Isn't that indication enough of just how scary you are to me? Just the thought of losing you, it's..."

"Unbearable," she whispered.

All he did was nod as he watched Dumbledore approach with the judges and call for attention. Hermione was holding onto his arm so tightly that he was sure her grip was stopping him from being able to warm up. When Dumbledore announced that the winner was Cedric, Hermione looked at Harry.

"You know, your little plan made me realise something, Harry."

"Oh yeah, and what's that?"

"I adore you too."

At the sound of that, Harry didn't even hear what Dumbledore had to say. He didn't even care. Something about moral fibre and second place. And people were cheering for him and smiling at him. But it was Hermione, in all of it, that he was looking at.

She _adored_ him.

And, he dare say, he thought he quite loved her.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"It's not your fault, you know?"

Harry didn't even register that Hermione had spoken until he felt her run a hand through his hair. Her hand rested on the back of his neck, as she stood just to the right of the chair on which he was sitting. They were in their classroom, just the two of them. It didn't make any sense to Ron to keep using it when there wasn't much preparation they could do for the Third Task, seeing as they hadn't yet been told what it was.

Harry and Hermione had to agree with that, but they still used the classroom for homework and profound conversations. Harry liked the fact that he could exist somewhere without having anyone - who he didn't want - staring at him.

"Whatever happened to Mr Crouch isn't because of you," Hermione said, her fingers feather-light on his skin.

Harry had to admit that he'd spent a while thinking it. It was true, somehow. He was sure of it. In some way, however indirectly, it was definitely all linked to the fact that Harry was in fact a fourteen-year-old Champion of the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

Voldemort.

Harry lifted his head to look at her. To see her. He raised his right hand to touch her, suddenly aware of just how tired he felt. He wondered if she could tell that he hadn't slept properly since the whole situation with Mr Crouch had come to light. Harry's hand closed around the back of her left leg, just above her knee and he pulled her towards him.

She stepped forward willingly and immediately hugged his head against her abdomen, carefully using her fingers in his hair to soothe him. After all he'd told her about his conversation with Dumbledore, Hermione figured that he was carrying a lot on his shoulders at this point. She was willing to do anything to help but she wasn't sure how to tell him that without leading him to think that he had to run away.

Hermione was also sure that something had happened at the bottom of the Black Lake. He seemed jaded, somewhat reluctant to engage in just about anything that involved people other than her and Ron. Even then, he was quiet, very serious, even broody around them. But he was still there, still around, looking at her, adoring her.

Loving her.

Harry had to admit that it was something new to him but he couldn't imagine anything feeling any more real to him. This girl. This crazy smart, adorable, caring, kind, ever-present girl who sometimes drove him up the wall. He was hopelessly in love with her.

And that frightened him.

"I'm sorry," Harry mumbled against her robes.

"For what?"

Harry moved away from her so he could see her. "For putting you in danger; for scaring you. I don't know. Everything."

She clutched at him again. Part of her knew that trying to talk him out of his apology was going to be useless, so she didn't. Eventually, though, Hermione let him go and sat down in a chair to his right, turned so that she could look at him.

"Now, tell me about Dumbledore's Pensieve," Hermione said, injecting some enthusiasm into her tone. "Was it amazing?"

Harry gave her a relieved look, his eyes translating just how thankful he was for her attempt to distract him. He even started to smile as he explained it. He went thoughtful when he explained what he had actually seen, but they quickly moved on to other things. She helped him stop thinking about the events of the past few days, and his heart was positively aching with what he felt for her.

Later, when they had actually finished - yes, even Harry - their homework, the two of them took a walk around the school grounds. They did their best to avoid people but it was quite an impossible task when your name was Harry Potter. It was like he was a magnet.

Thankfully, though, their encounter with Malfoy wasn't too aggressive. Of course, Hermione was subjected to some vicious name-calling, but she didn't react, even placing a restraining hand on Harry's arm to stop him from drawing his wand. She'd just managed to push him away from Malfoy and they'd continued down the corridor.

Again, Harry got that thoughtful look on his face.

"What?" Hermione asked, trying and failing to read his facial expression. He was normally an open book to her, but there seemed to be too much on his mind, clouding his features.

He risked a smile. "Did you know that my Mum was Muggle-born?"

Hermione nodded. "I did know that."

Harry looked at her, green eyes caressing her skin. "I think you're a lot like her," he said seriously. "She was smart too. And pretty beautiful too."

Hermione started to blush.

"I think she'd like you. She'd be happy with my choices."

"Because you're convinced you chose me, huh?"

Harry laughed lightly. "Maybe not exactly. But I've chosen to keep you around, haven't I? I don't know what I'd do without you." He stopped walking and turned to face her. "And I'm not saying that because of what you do for me in terms of your books or your brain. I'm saying it because of who you are in spite of that. Because you know me. You see me. And I can't imagine what kind of life I would have if I didn't have you."

Hermione felt small under his gaze. She was wearing his Quidditch jersey, and she absently clutched at the fabric. "Because I'm yours."

Harry reached out and took hold of the broomstick pendant around her neck. He stepped towards her while he also pulled her towards him. "Yes you are." He would have kissed her. It was all he wanted to do in that moment, but the sound of a group of students approaching stopped him from leaning in.

Instead, he released the pendant and started to walk again, hesitating until she fell into step beside him. He couldn't help but smile, feeling his own cheeks start to burn. He'd seen it in her eyes. She'd definitely wanted him to kiss her. That was a relief, at least. He wasn't alone in whatever new thing was going on with their relationship.

"What's it like?" Harry asked, his mind going back to their encounter with Malfoy. "Dealing with all of that?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "It's just how it is, isn't it? Like you said."

"What?"

"With the elves. There is only so much S.P.E.W. can do for elves who don't even know the contents of their own life contracts. I can't help them if they don't even know that they should want to help themselves. It's the way it is. I should just accept it."

"And why on earth would you do that?" he asked, his voice sounding rather harsh. "I don't want you to accept anything. Not accepting things, it's who you are. Please don't ever change who you are. Ever."

She just blinked. "Okay..."

Harry started to smile first, and then he burst out laughing. Thankfully, he was eventually joined by Hermione, and the two of them spent a good minute laughing at practically nothing.

"I'm sorry," Harry eventually said, still trying to catch his breath. "I sounded really angry there."

"You did. It was kind of nice, having you be all protective over me."

Harry sneaked a look at her. "I'd always protect you, Hermione."

She turned her head to look at him as well. Then, she hooked her arm with his as they walked, feeling the warmth of him radiate through where they were touching. "There you go with your 'Saving People' thing," she said softly.

Harry frowned at her but he didn't ask the question she thought he would. "Can I ask you a personal question?" he asked carefully.

She waited a beat before she nodded.

"Does it bother you, all of this extra public attention you're getting because of me?"

Hermione gave herself some time to formulate a suitable response to the question. She would tell him the truth. Always. "Sometimes."

"Is what Rita Skeeter said about your teeth the reason you had Madame Pompfrey reduce their size after Malfoy's curse?"

Now, _that_ was a question she definitely wasn't expecting. Hermione knew he had noticed but she definitely hadn't expected him to mention it. This response was a little bit more complicated. "Not exactly. It just made me aware that people were aware. It was fixable, and I wanted to fix it. For myself. Not for anyone else, if that's what you're really asking."

Harry squeezed the arm of hers that he had in his hold. "You're probably amazed that I was even paying that much attention, aren't you?"

"I'm not, actually," she said seriously. "The way you look at me sometimes; it makes the entire world disappear. If you weren't the one to notice, I don't know who else would."

"I thought you were beautiful before," he told her. "And I think you're beautiful now. Not that it really matters. It should be how _you_ feel. I just thought I would tell you."

"Thank you," she said softly.

The two of them continued their walk in silence, still unclear on what their destination was. Somehow, they ended up sitting side by side on the grass with their backs against the stones of the back wall of the Castle. They didn't say anything to each other, both their minds racing through what they wanted to say and what they _could_ say.

It was Hermione who broke the silence. "Harry, can _I_ ask _you_ a personal question now?"

For a moment, Harry wanted to say no. He wasn't anywhere near prepared for whatever she would want to know. "Sure," he said instead.

"What happened at the bottom of the Lake?"

Harry didn't know exactly what she was asking but he knew he wasn't comfortable with it. He thought back to the moment when he accepted death, and it scared him to think his mind had gone so far. Was his life really _that_ awful?

"What were you thinking about?" she asked, trying to coax him into talking to her. All she wanted was to help him, as she'd promised the night his name had flown out of the Goblet. She was determined to see it through every way she could.

Harry looked out at the beauty of Hogwarts, determined not to look at the beauty of Hermione. She would see the truth in his eyes in a heartbeat and he needed to hide it from her.

"Lots of things," he finally admitted, his voice barely audible.

"Harry?"

"Hermione."

"Look at me."

He'd never hesitated to look at her before, and this time was no different. He couldn't imagine a life where he wasn't able to look at her.

Hermione managed to steel herself under his penetrating gaze. "Tell me what's going on in that head of yours."

He took a deep breath. "Why do you care so much?"

Hermione wasn't taken aback by his question. She could tell that he asked it from a place of curiosity, not anger. What could she tell him that wouldn't change the state of their relationship for good? "Because I do," she chose to say. "You're my best friend. And because Sirius isn't here, it's my job to worry about you."

Harry quite hated that all she was was his best friend. It just seemed too small to be used to describe what they were for each other. She had to know that the Second Task had opened his eyes to a lot of things, mainly concerning her.

And, well, himself.

Admitting to her that he had considered staying down in the Lake was too scary to think about. He didn't want her to analyse his thoughts, to make them mean more than they actually did. He'd fought to reach the surface in the end.

He wanted to be here.

With her.

"I was thinking about my mother," he finally said, the words feeling light on his lips. It wasn't exactly a lie, but it was a truth without context. His next words halted Hermione's burning questions. "And I guess I was thinking about you. All I knew was that I had to see you and everything would be all right. No matter what happened in my life, if I could just see you; I would be fine." He shook his head, feeling like he was saying the same thing over and over. "The great big world wouldn't be such a frightening place so long as I got to see those perfect brown eyes."

Hermione forced herself not to react to his words, her heart fluttering and her cheeks burning. "You weren't going to come up, were you?"

Harry waited a beat before he nodded his head, closing his eyes at the same time. He didn't want to see her look of disgust, or appall. He already felt bad enough about it.

Hermione surprised him by not reacting at all. In fact, all she did was move the hair out of his eyes.

He felt her cool fingers on his forehead and he let out a relieved breath. He opened his eyes once more, seeking hers. "You don't hate me?"

She shook her head. _Quite the opposite actually_. "You're still here. How could I hate you for that?"

"It just seemed so much easier," he elaborated, needing her to understand. "No expectations. No scrutiny. No gossip."

Hermione regarded him for a moment, wondering how much everything that happened had actually affected him. When he'd emerged from the Lake, he'd seemed beaten, like he'd given up. Now she knew it to be true.

"But no you," he said mildly, looking down at the grass in front of him.

"I won't lose you, Harry," Hermione said strongly, her fingers playing with his mop of hair. "I won't."

He believed her. From the expression on her face; he could tell that she would have dove right in after him if he hadn't surfaced when he had.

Eventually, Harry let out a long breath and smiled. "Merlin, Hermione, please can we stop with all this morbid talk?" There was an undeniable glint in his eyes that made her smile.

"Well, what would you have us talk about then?"

He pretended to think hard about it before he turned to look at her, his eyes positively shining as they bore into her. "I don't know. I don't really care. Just nothing grownup. Just for a while. Let's be kids."

"Harry, I'm sorry to break it to you but we haven't been kids in a long time."

He stood up quite suddenly. "Then we'll definitely have to fix that," he declared, stomping his foot and raising his nose to look dignified. "We shall act like our ages, for once in our lives," he said. "We're going to be crazy teenagers and do crazy things and be happy and worry-free." He put out his hands to pull her to her feet.

"I don't think it's possible for us to be crazy," she muttered, just managing not to stumble once she was upright.

"Oh really?" he asked, his voice sounding mischievous. "Do you know who I am?" he asked incredulously, stepping back and spreading his arms. "Do you know what blood runs through these veins?"

Hermione couldn't stop herself from laughing at how silly he was being.

"Tell me, Hermione, do you not know?" He raised an eyebrow expectantly. "I've got Marauder blood in me, and it is my duty to carry on the legend." He stomped his foot once more and smiled devilishly.

Hermione's knees almost buckled. She had to lean back against the Castle to steady herself. She was quite certain she'd never seen that smile before. What number was that now? Seven? What did it mean?

He walked towards her, stopping close enough to define his position as pinning her against the wall. They were completely alone and the way he was looking at her was making her shiver. It was a warm, hard stare that turned her insides to mush. That look would be the death of her.

Harry considered pushing his body up against her and pressing his lips against hers. It was exactly what he wanted to do. Anything better that seeing her would be feeling her, touching her, breathing her in. It was _everything_. She even had those 'kiss me' eyes again.

Hermione watched him contemplate his next move and she absently bit her bottom lip in anticipation.

Harry would have kissed her. That part in the back - perhaps now it was in the middle somewhere - of his brain was practically screaming for him to lean in.

Hermione waited, making it his decision. She wasn't going to be the one to change what they were. Whatever she was feeling for him was too strong; she didn't want to overwhelm him. Though, if he did end up kissing her, she was quite certain she would jump on him. Talk about overwhelming a person...

In the time it took Harry to make a decision, he lost his nerve. He thought of the Third Task, and how he may yet end up dead by the end of the year. His lips wouldn't be going anywhere near hers. What he did do was place a kiss against her cheek, lingering for a moment until he blew air out quite harshly, making her squeal in surprise. And delight.

He stepped back, his devilish smile framing his face. "I'm sorry, did you say something?"

"Why, I ought to -" she said, lunging towards him.

Harry just managed to back out of her reach, and then he set off; Hermione hot on his heels. The chase didn't last very long, mainly because Harry was already tired and he did kind of want her to tackle him.

She didn't. Hermione Granger might have stooped low enough to punch Draco Malfoy in the face, but she was still a lady. She did grab his arm hard enough to stop him, and somehow the two of them ended up in a heap of laughter on the grass.

Harry rolled onto his back to look up at the sky, his breath slowing as he regained it. If this was the last bit of normalcy he would get before preparations for the Third Task _properly_ began, he would do well to savour it.

He turned his head to look at her, and she was already watching him, her smile one of undeniable happiness. It was only a moment, she was sure. The Battle wasn't over, but boy was she looking forward to the aftermath.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

When Ludo Bagman informed Harry and the Champions of what their Third and Final Task would be, Harry couldn't deny the relief he felt. It was for several reasons of course. One of those being that he would be the only one involved in the _actual_ Task, and another being that they were that much closer to reaching the end of this very strange year.

Harry met Ron and Hermione in their classroom and retold everything he had learned to them, trying his best to play down just how dangerous a nighttime, magical maze would be to a fourteen-year-old boy. Hermione was sure she had a bit of an idea but she didn't want to be the one to bring it up.

Eventually, though, she had to.

With the days slipping away where they maintained a strict routine of meeting in the classroom after they'd let out and working endlessly on preparations; Hermione had to force her two best friends into accepting that maybe they had to prepare _that_ bit more.

"What does that mean?" Ron asked curiously.

The three of them were sitting at a table, spell books open to various helpful - and sometimes not so helpful - incantations to save Harry from whatever mysteries the mystery of the maze held for him.

Hermione had actually hoped to have this conversation with just Harry but she was now very rarely alone with him. Once Harry'd started learning hexes by the boatload; Ron's interest had peaked, which Hermione found quite irritating, though she wouldn't say.

"Hermione?" Harry queried, his own interest peaked at whatever it was she was trying to tell them. He couldn't quite read her facial expression, and she was definitely making a point of _not_ looking at him.

"I've been thinking," she began, keeping her eyes cast down at the book she held in her lap. She'd just retrieved it from her book bag, and both boys seemed rather wary of whatever the book actually was. "This maze. It was designed by the same people who had you fight a dragon, and had you hold your breath for an hour, right?"

Both boys nodded.

"And this is the Third and Final Task... which really means that it's probably going to be worse than both the first Tasks combined." She waited while they nodded their agreement. "That's where this book comes in," she continued. At this point, she looked at Harry. "It's why I needed to borrow your Cloak and Map from you the other night. I needed to get into the Restricted Section."

Ron would have made a comment about how Harry had her breaking rules on her own now, but she seemed too serious and he was not in the mood to face bodily harm. Malfoy could attest to the fact that Hermione Granger had quite the right hook. Ron wasn't particularly keen to find out for himself.

"I had to get this book." It took considerable effort to lift the large book from her lap and onto the tabletop.

"Hermione, what is that?" Harry asked skeptically.

"It's how I intend to make sure that you survive," she said strongly, assuredly. "It's a book on the Dark Arts. Particularly, it lists useful, umm, curses."

Both boys just stared at her.

Ron swallowed. "Who are you and what have you done with Hermione?" he asked, his eyes wide. He turned to Harry and, only half joking, he said, "I reckon who ever is pretending to be Hermione is the one stealing all that Polyjuice Potion from Snape."

Harry didn't even look at the redhead. His eyes were on Hermione, focused and searching. It was very unlike her to bring up anything to do with the Dark Arts. Something was wrong, but he knew she wouldn't appreciate him asking her a personal kind of question in front of Ron. He would save it for later. All he could do then was play along. "Okay."

Hermione's eyes snapped towards him. "Okay?" Truthfully, she'd expected questions - lots of them - and the fact that he accepted what she suggested sort of threw her for a loop. He had to suspect something was up with her. Why wasn't he asking his questions?

Ron was as surprised as Hermione was. "Okay? Mate, seriously, I'm pretty sure whatever's in that book is illegal," he said hotly. Then he thought back to his own words. "Bloody hell, when on earth did _I_ become the voice of reason in this trio?"

Hermione sat up straight. "I'm also pretty sure that involving a fourteen-year-old in a death Tournament in illegal," she said hotly, her eyes stinging Ron's. "Now, I've already gone through the lists and I've found some useful ones. I think."

Harry leaned forward. "And you want me to learn them?"

Hermione nodded. "I want you to be prepared for anything they send your way. You have to survive that maze, do you hear me? I don't care what you have to do. You _have_ to survive."

Ron shifted uncomfortably in his chair at the intensity of his two friends' exchange. He felt like an onlooker to some deep declaration and it made him feel oddly important and unimportant at the same time.

"Okay," Harry said again.

Hermione didn't question his acceptance. Instead, she moved into the professor mode that the boys knew all too well. Harry gave her his full attention right until the moment Ron declared that it was time for dinner. He packed up his things quickly and practically bolted from the classroom, either his desire for food or his fear of Hermione's newly extensive hex knowledge driving him forward.

Harry did not move. He sat quietly as he watched Hermione slowly and delicately pack away her things. She was gentle with the books, calculated with the parchment and meticulous with the quills as she waited for him to ask whatever it was he wanted to ask.

When she was done and he still hadn't spoken, she risked a look at him. Of course he was already looking at her, his green gaze sending a shiver down her arched spine.

"Harry?" she queried softly.

"Hermione."

"Is everything okay?"

"I don't know. Is it?"

She let out a long sigh. "Just in this year alone, I've had to face losing you goodness knows how many times. I refuse to do it again. I don't know how else to keep you safe other than preparing you as much as I possibly can."

"It's a just a maze, Hermione."

She glared at him. "Don't you dare say that!" she reprimanded. "Merlin, Harry, haven't you been paying attention? Dragons, merpeople, what's next? I swear, if you die, I will personally bring you back from the dead just to kill you again."

Harry had never seen her this emotional, and he decided it was best that he didn't mention that. She _did_ know as many hexes as him now, if not more. Instead, he risked a smile. "Okay."

Hermione stared at him as her face played through all the emotions she was feeling. Eventually, she started to laugh which gradually turned into sobs.

Harry panicked. He had no idea what to do. After a moment of contemplation, he rose to his feet and moved to enclose her in his arms, desperately trying to soothe her shaking body. What on earth was happening?

"I'm sorry," Hermione mumbled against him. "I must look like I've gone mental."

"No more than usual," he said, and received a soft punch to the gut for his comment.

With that, Hermione pulled herself out of his grasp. She wiped at her eyes and let out a light laugh. "You've turned me into a complete basket case," she muttered.

Harry stood up straight and shrugged. "Do basket cases eat? Because I'm starving."

Hermione allowed him to pull her to her feet, and fell into step beside him as they left the classroom to head towards the Great Hall.

And when he pointed out that not eating could result in starving to _death_ , he received, yes, a form of bodily harm in the shape of a hard punch to his arm.

Hermione smiled, satisfied with the wistful look he gave her. She wasn't even sorry.

Anything to touch him.

* * *

As per tradition - well, really they'd only done it once - Harry and Hermione sat together on _their_ couch in the common room on the day of the Third Task. Unlike the first two, the Third would be held at night, which really angered Hermione. It wasn't bad enough that it was probably full of nasty, horrible creatures; but they had to make it difficult to see as well.

Harry was able to keep her calm as they sat side by side, each with four fingers hooked with the other. It was all they allowed themselves in the rather subdued common room. Nobody was speaking too loudly, and Harry suspected it was because of him.

At lunch, he'd reminisced in a way that made his friends even more wary of what he was about to face. It hadn't been intentional. It was just a way for him to translate to them that he appreciated all they'd done for him. Although, he was quite certain, even if he did end up living a long life, that he would never be able to convey to Hermione just how much she meant to him. Words wouldn't be enough. Neither would actions.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked softly.

Harry waited with his response, silently enjoying the feel of her cool fingers entwined with his.

"Are you nervous?" Hermione asked him, getting his attention by tugging on his fingers.

Harry might have said yes but the truth was that he was feeling quite content. Although, he was quite certain his nerves would kick in when he was no longer with her. Anything and everything just seemed doable when she was by his side - or he was by hers. It didn't even matter.

"I am," she admitted.

"Don't be."

"You think it's that easy?"

He nodded. "You told me yourself that I have to do everything I can to survive; to get back to you." He turned his head to meet her gaze, his green eyes holding her brown ones captive. "I have to do all I can to make sure that I get to see you again."

Hermione leaned into him, eventually resting her head on his shoulder. With her free hand, she absently played with the broomstick pendant hanging around her neck.

Like it was habit, Harry kissed the top of her head. When it was all over, he would tell her. He didn't care. He would tell her that, somewhere along the line - he still wasn't sure where - he had fallen in love with his best friend.

He just hoped that she didn't think he was talking about Ron.

* * *

Harry had to admit that the beginning of his time in the maze was... interesting, to say the least. Once the maze closed behind him, he was plunged into darkness and dead silence, the sound of his shallow breathing and racing heart all that he could hear. Everything about the maze felt ominous and foreboding, the fog making it difficult to make out whatever shapes the maze probably didn't want him to see until it was too late.

As Harry cautiously started to move, carefully moving through passage after passage, he came to the conclusion that he wasn't that worried about winning. Hermione had said it many times: all he needed to do was survive. So he was quite content with just strolling, really, and if he happened to come across the Cup, great. He just needed to keep moving.

The maze, however, was hell spent on making it difficult for him. It wanted him to participate, and it was unafraid to show him just how impatient it was.

Without any warning at all, the walls of hedges Harry was walking through began to fall in on each other rather rapidly, intent on squashing all in its wake. Including Harry. He was forced to sprint to get away from the shrinking opening, sending him into a small clearing. His wand was already held up, poised for defense - or attack.

Really, Harry could probably and easily take down a Death Eater with all the hexes, jinxes and curses he now had stored in his head. Thanks to Hermione.

Harry started to walk again, his steps more thoughtful and precise. He was a lot more careful now, paying attention to any foreign sounds, in case the walls decided to close in on him again.

 _Story of his life_. He almost smiled at that.

All too quickly, and against his better judgment, he ended up in the middle of a duel between Fleur and Krum. Harry tried to get out the way of the hexes flying through the air, but he was hit by one, which made Krum look at him, his eyes dead and unseeing. Harry even shivered at the sight as he clutched the point on which he had been hit on his left shoulder.

Krum then made quick work of Fleur before he disappeared into the maze, leaving Harry even more confused. Why would he take out Fleur but leave Harry alone? It was a thought that played on Harry's mind as he rushed over to Fleur's side. She was unconscious, which Harry deemed to be a good thing. The maze was scary enough to wish for unconsciousness.

He didn't attempt to revive her, in case she really was seriously injured. Instead, he shot red sparks skyward with his wand and then, giving the French witch one last look, he took off. He couldn't get the look of Krum's dead eyes out of his head. It was as if there was no will power in him at all, which Harry knew meant only one thing. An Unforgivable.

Harry needed to find him before he hurt someone else or, worse, himself. As soon as Harry made the decision to become an active participant in the maze, it seemed to send worse things at him. Branches began to claw at him as he ran and little pixie animals flew at his head, trying to pick at his skin. Harry cast quick hexes but there were too many obstacles to evade, and he ended up on his knees more often than not.

"Stay down!" Harry heard someone scream.

Harry stayed down as instructed, but he turned his head to see Cedric with his wand drawn, pointed at some place well beyond Harry.

"Krum," Cedric yelled, his voice ice cold and determined. "Stop! Now!"

Harry just caught sight of Krum sending a vicious hex Cedric's way. The Hufflepuff was able to shield it, but it did knock him down and he dropped his wand. "He doesn't know what he's doing," Harry shouted at Cedric. "He's Cursed."

Harry racked his brain for an appropriate spell to use to subdue the large Bulgarian. He was just in time, really, because Krum was already sending another, even more dangerous, hex at Cedric. With a flick of his wand, Harry stunned Krum and had him a in a Body Bind. A moment later, he sent the same red sparks up into the air before he helped Cedric to his feet.

Cedric dusted himself off. "Thanks," he muttered. "You said he was Cursed?"

Harry nodded.

Cedric wasn't sure what next to say. The two boys ended up spending an awkward moment contemplating their next moves. "Have you seen the Cup?" Cedric asked.

"No. Have you?"

"Momentarily," he admitted. "But then that troll arrived and now I've lost my bearings."

Harry shrugged. "I can help you find it," he offered. "And you can take it."

Cedric frowned. "Harry? Do you even know what you're saying?"

"All I know is that I want to get out of here," he explained. "I just want to survive. I want you to win anyway. And I reckon we'll handle whatever this magical maze has in store for us much better if there are two of us."

Cedric had to agree with that. "Okay," he said. "But if I make the decision that we take the Cup together, you're not allowed to refuse."

Harry supposed that was a deal he could make. He didn't want Cedric to make the offer but if it was the only way he'd allow Harry to help him find the Cup that much faster; it didn't sound terrible. He'd do anything to be done with the Tournament, even if that meant _winning_.

Hermione would be _so_ disappointed.

* * *

As soon as Harry grabbed the Portkey, the world started to spin. He felt like he was being sucked through a vacuum and he just managed to hold onto Cedric's body in the whirlwind. His body. His dead dead body.

They hit the ground with a thud, the sound of the dead weight of Cedric reverberating in Harry's ears. Everything else didn't exist in that moment. It was just him and his grief and hopelessness. Why did he listen to Cedric? Why didn't he just be selfish and take the Cup himself?

Harry was only vaguely aware that they had landed at the entrance to the maze, and there were people everywhere. The band was even playing and people were cheering. Didn't they realize what had happened? Couldn't they see?

Harry immediately crawled towards the Hufflepuff and placed his forehead against Cedric's chest, his own body heaving as he cried. He was sobbing. It was all his fault.

Slowly, the morbid truth seemed to ripple through the stands. Something was wrong. Why wasn't Cedric moving?

Cedric Diggory was no longer breathing.

Harry felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back, but he resisted. "No! No, I have to stay with him."

"Harry." It was Dumbledore.

When Harry looked up, he could barely see the aged Headmaster through his tears. "He's back," he said. "Voldemort, he's back! He made Wormtail kill him. He killed Cedric. I had to bring him back. I couldn't just leave him." He sobbed some more, aware that nearly everyone could hear him, it was so quiet. "Wormtail, he brought him back. The cup was a Portkey. Voldemort. He's back." Harry dropped his head again, his words becoming muffled. "Cedric, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Dumbledore pushed again on Harry's shoulder. "Come now," he said calmly. "Come."

This time, Harry allowed Dumbledore to help him to his feet, just as Amos Diggory broke through the crowd and howled painfully at the sight of his son's lifeless body.

Harry buried his face in Dumbledore's robes, too ashamed of himself. He had let it happen. If he'd just taken the Portkey himself... then he would be the one who was dead. Wouldn't that have been better?

Harry shuddered at the thought. Then, his eyes darted towards the stands, searching frantically. He needed to see her.

When his eyes finally landed on her, she was already looking at him, her face ashen. She was crying. Harry could only imagine why.

When their eyes met, Hermione started to move. She had to get to him, to touch him, to feel the warmth of him.

Harry started to move towards her as well, leaving Dumbledore's side like there was suddenly a magnetic pull guiding him towards his bushy-haired best friend.

Harry felt a strong arm close around his chest, holding him back. Harry could smell Alastor Moody behind him and he fought at the contact, needing to get to her.

"No," Harry said, losing sight of Hermione as she moved through the crowd. "I have to see her. Let me go!"

People started to move all at once, some kind of chaos erupting at the affirmation of a dead boy and the repetition of the name Voldemort.

In the chaos, Moody only tightened his grip on Harry, pulling him back. "You shouldn't be here," he said strongly. "They'll think you killed him."

Harry didn't believe that for a second. Dumbledore wouldn't let them. He fought harder. He was even tempted to reach for his wand. "Hermione?" he called out, his voice carrying out over the tops of heads.

"Harry?"

He could hear her but he couldn't see her. He hated it. Where was she? He had to see her. "Hermione?"

When she appeared, Moody had somewhat overpowered him and he almost let Moody lead him away. He was feeling defeated, his level of adrenalin coming down quickly.

Hermione ran towards him, a certain desperation propelling her forward. In her mind, she knew she had come so close to losing him. She still could.

Harry felt very tired, the exhaustion claiming him. His body was aching, his head was throbbing and his scar was burning.

He tried to accept that that one sight of her was all he needed. If it was all he got, that would be okay. He'd seen her. That was all he needed.

"Harry," Hermione said breathlessly, finally getting close enough to touch him. She grabbed hold of his sleeve, closing her fist around the fabric, determined not to let go. "You're okay," she stated, trying to translate something to him. "We're going to be okay."

In all his grief and hopelessness, she was the only thing that made remotely any sense to him. Which was why he said what he said. He opened his mouth and just said it. The three words slipped out, a truth he had known for a long time.

"I love you."

And when her face fell and her grip on him loosened, Harry allowed Moody to pull him away.

Suddenly, he wished that Voldemort had actually killed him.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

In the days following the Third and Final Task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, several things happened.

First, and least important, according to just about every student, Harry Potter was announced the co-winner of the Tournament, along with fellow Hogwarts student, Cedric Diggory. There was even a small ceremony, but nobody felt like celebrating. Especially not Harry.

Second, the Alastor Moody they had known throughout the year turned out to be none other than Barty Crouch Jr, a Death Eater, in charge of insuring Harry made it to the graveyard. Professor Snape finally found out who was siphoning his precious supply of Polyjuice Potion. It also didn't help that the culprit turned out to be the guilty party in the demise of Mr Crouch. His own son.

Third, only a handful of people believed Harry's tale of the return of Voldemort. It seemed to him that people were so against the idea that they were willing to shame a fourteen-year-old boy right into the ground. And, for the most part, Harry didn't care. He knew what he had experienced. Nothing would change that.

Fourth, all students - bar the filthy Slytherins - from all three schools attended the memorial service of Cedric Diggory. There wasn't a dry eye around, with Cedric's parents leading the procession. Harry stayed hidden as best he could, but there were always going to be people determined to mutter things about him. The scrutiny, the gossip. Would it ever end?

And finally, of certainly greatest significance to Harry, Hermione Jean Granger was not talking to him.

Harry believed he knew why. He'd overwhelmed her; he'd said too much, done too much. She was running away, and rightly so. It was too dangerous to be loved by him.

When Dumbledore addressed the students for the last time of the school year in the Great Hall, Hermione sat just to Harry's right, unmoving. She was not touching him. She hadn't touched him since the Third Task, which wouldn't have been so scary if he didn't crave it so much. In his mind, it was probably the only thing that he thought would make whatever he was feeling better. Or just make it stop, if only for a little while.

When Hermione started to cry, Harry's heart began to ache that much more. He wanted to put an arm around her, hug her close and ease away her tears. But now he was too scared to touch her, at least that way. He carefully slid his fingers towards hers and hooked four of his fingers with hers. Thankfully, she didn't recoil.

As Dumbledore continued to speak, even telling the students about the true circumstances of Cedric's death; Hermione changed the grip on his hand until she was fully holding it, the pain of that retold revelation resonating within her. Every one of her fingers was entwined with his and she was holding it tightly. She didn't look at him the entire time.

When Dumbledore dismissed them, she practically jumped out of her seat and hurried out of the Great Hall. Harry had to run to catch up with her, fighting through grieving students until they reached a semi-empty corridor.

"Hermione, wait," he said, reaching for her arm to try to stop her.

She turned suddenly, sharply, her eyes still wet. "What, Harry?"

"I, umm," he stopped, suddenly blanking. What did he want to say? What _could_ he say to make it all better? "Did I do something?" he asked innocently.

"What?"

"You haven't spoken to me in days. What did I do wrong?"

Hermione suddenly couldn't look at him. She looked down at the cobbled ground, trying desperately to think of what she could say to end this conversation. She didn't feel ready to face whatever he might say. It was too much, all of it.

"Hermione?" he asked, his tone of voice so sad and broken, that it tore straight through her. "Tell me what I did."

"You told me you love me," she eventually said, so softly, she wondered if he actually heard her.

Harry's breath caught. "I know."

When she looked at him, she looked torn, like she wanted to believe his words but she wouldn't allow it. "Did you mean it?"

"Did I mean what?"

"What you said, Harry?" she asked, sounding defeated. Then, as if she wasn't prepared for what he might say, she continued, "I mean, _why_?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you love me? Why now? Is it because Cedric just died and it was a spur of the moment thing? Were you feeling hopeless and you just decided to say it to make yourself feel better? Why? Why did you have to say it if you don't even mean it?"

Harry didn't even know what to say to that. How could she believe that he didn't mean it? He practically told her he loved her every other way possible without actually uttering the three dangerous words. She had to know that he meant it.

"Why _ever_?" she continued. "I mean, what changed? I want to know."

He didn't have to think twice. "I _saw_ you."

"What?"

"One day, I looked at you and I saw you. Hermione, I _see_ you. And what I see, Merlin, makes the entire great big world not seem so scary anymore." He closed his eyes for a prolonged moment. "Ah, I can't explain it. I'm not good with words and stuff. That's why I'm telling you I love you. That's all I have. Those words. Those great, meaningful words. Not _appreciate_ , not _adore_ ; I bloody well _love_ you, Hermione Granger, and I'll be damned if you don't believe it!"

Hermione stared at him for a long time, her mind running a mile a minute as she tried to work through what he was saying. "It's not about Cedric?" she asked softly. "Because I don't think I could handle it if you said what you said because..."

"Hermione," he said strongly, cutting her off, and even making her flinch. "I won't lie and say that the experiences of this year have nothing to do with what I feel for you. You are so much more than my best friend. You have to know that. I _love_ you."

Hermione was quiet for a long time. Then she shook her head. "No."

"No?"

"You don't get to tell me you love me," she said hotly, her thoughts finally coming together and pouring out of her in a rush. "Not like that. This is all your fault! You did this to me!"

Harry just frowned, definitely not understanding what she was going on about.

"You know, when you and Cedric arrived with that Portkey, I thought you were him, and he was you," she said, fresh tears springing to her eyes. "I thought you were the one who was dead, Harry. And when I heard your voice and realised that it was the other way around, and I was... relieved." She looked disgusted with herself. "I was relieved! I was even happy that another boy was dead, because it wasn't _you_. Do you know how that feels? How I feel to even have had such a thought? I can't even look at myself in the mirror.

"So, yes, it's all your fault. You did this to me. You made me _love_ you, and then you almost _died_ , and now I'm that disgusting, horrible person who is so relieved that someone else died instead of _you_. Someone else's friend, boyfriend, son. I don't even care, because it wasn't you. What kind of person am I? What kind of person have you made me? I mean, I was even willing to resort to the Dark Arts to make sure you survived. This, Harry, _this_ isn't me. How could anyone ever love someone like that anyway?

"So you don't get to tell me you love me. I don't want to hear it. Especially if you don't even mean it!" And, with that, she turned on her heel and stalked down the corridor, leaving Harry with just about _everything_ to think about.

* * *

It took Harry days to work through everything Hermione had said to him. The foreign students even took their leave from the Castle while he still replayed his and Hermione's conversation over and over, trying desperately to discern what next he was supposed to do. Fleur thanked him once more for saving her sister, and Krum just gave him an understanding nod. Harry wasn't the only one subjected to an Unforgivable Curse during the Third Task.

Harry noticed that Hermione hung back while all the students excitedly said goodbye to one another, using the opportunity to think of something more pleasant than a dead student. Harry watched her when she wasn't aware, which was about all he could manage when he knew what he knew.

If he loved her as much as he thought, he would stay very far away from her. He was dangerous. Loving him had turned the most perfect person he knew into someone she couldn't even recognise. If that wasn't alarming enough, he didn't know what was.

But she loved him.

Sure, she'd said it in the heat of the moment while she was yelling at him for being who he was, but she'd still said it. The part in the back of his brain would never let him forget it. And Hermione Granger was not the type of girl to say things that she didn't mean. It made her recent behaviour start to make sense to him. Sort of.

Harry would never admit to understanding anything to do with the female half of their species. And Hermione was definitely not just any girl. She was one-of-a-kind, in the most _uncliche_ way.

A lot of their Gryffindor classmates picked up on the change between Harry and Hermione but only Ron was brave enough to comment on it. Hermione shot him a harsh enough look to physically wound him. Harry wasn't forthcoming either. He was desperately trying to hold onto his own sanity in the face of such a great tragedy. The tragedy was Cedric's death. And, he supposed, Voldemort's return. If there was going to be more than one tragedy, then he had to add in the effective _end_ of his and Hermione's friendship.

Ah, it hurt even to think about it. He couldn't even think of who he was without her. The Harry Potter he was didn't exist without Hermione Granger, and the distress he felt was all-consuming.

With the end of the school year just two days away, Ron finally had enough. It was strange for him seeing his two best friends, who were normally so in sync with each other, barely speak. Merlin, they didn't even look at each other, and he had just about got used to the fact that they now _always_ stared at each other.

Ron enlisted the help of Neville and Ginny to come up with a plan to get Harry and Hermione to talk. It came about quickly and the three of them had to act fast. Because Ron was sure that, if they went on holiday this way; the trio would be over by the time September rolled around.

For the plan, Neville and Ginny had to lure their marks to the rendezvous point. Ron made sure that they took both their wands before they locked both Harry and Hermione in the trio's classroom. Hermione was none too pleased.

Harry didn't know how he felt about it.

"We're not letting the two of you out of there until you talk about it," Ron said through the door, after Harry had pounded on it for almost half a minute. "I'm even willing to let you starve."

Harry growled in irritation. "When I get out of here, I swear, Ron, you're going to wish you were never born."

Ron laughed on the other side of the door. " _When_ , ey? You better get talking then."

Harry could just make out the sound of footsteps scurrying away. He let out a long breath. They were alone. Slowly, he turned around to face the classroom.

Hermione was sitting quietly at a table, with her hands resting in her lap. She wasn't looking at anything specific, just absently staring into space. She was determined not to be angry with Ron, though she was imagining about a million different ways to hurt him. Some ways didn't even require a wand. She could get creative.

Harry shuffled towards her, choosing to sit down some distance away though. His body faced her but he didn't dare lift his head to look. He hated that this was the state of their relationship, but he was convinced it was for the best. It had to be. He would never be able to live with himself if he knew he could - or if he already had - ruin her.

Neither of them said anything for a good while. In the time, Hermione sat perfectly still and Harry fidgeted restlessly. He even took a walk around the room, as if anything about it was new to him. After all the time they'd spent in the classroom, he was sure he knew just about every nook and cranny. He might have even been responsible for a few of the marks in the stone walls. At least the Summoning Charm didn't leave a mark. Or did it?

He suddenly turned to Hermione, a thought springing to mind. Well, it was one way to break the silence. He moved to sit back down in the chair he had vacated. There, he played with his fingers for a bit longer, building up the courage to open his mouth and actually _talk_ to her.

"Say, Hermione," he sounded. He waited for her to give him even the slightest flicker of recognition before he continued. "Can the Summoning Charm be used on people?"

Hermione was quite surprised by his question. She was, however, not surprised that he was the one to break the silence. The truth was that she didn't know what to say to him, if anything at all. After all she had said to him after Dumbledore's final address, she was surprised he even wanted anything to do with her. She was ashamed at how she had handled the entire thing, but once she'd started talking, she'd not been able to stop. And now there were all these things that the raven-haired wizard knew about her.

She'd even told him that he made her love him. Merlin. He _knew_ , and yet there he sat, asking her a question about _Charms_ of all things.

"No it doesn't," she answered eventually.

"Oh." He seemed to think about it. "That's too bad," he muttered.

She couldn't resist, especially from the slightly mischievous look on his face. "Why's that?"

Harry looked caught, like she'd stumbled onto whatever he was thinking. "Umm, well, it just seems like it would be useful, you know?"

Hermione just nodded, dropping her gaze.

Harry waited up to a minute before he spoke again. "I'm sorry," he said sadly. "For all of it. For all I put you through, and didn't put you through. I'm also sorry for whatever you think you've turned into." He stopped abruptly to look at her and, even though she wasn't looking at him, she could feel his gaze as if it was touching her skin. "But, whoever you think you are, Hermione, you have to know that you're perfect in my eyes." He swallowed, finding the courage from some unknown source to keep to going. "And I by no means say that with any naivety. I may only be fourteen but I've seen a lot in my short years. I know that people aren't faultless. We all have flaws. Especially me.

"This flaw you think you have isn't the end of the world," he said strongly. "It's not. I'm going to tell you again, Hermione, that I love you. I mean it. It isn't that friendship love. It's so much more than that. You really are so much more than my best friend and I need you to believe it. Believe it and do with it what you will. I definitely love who you are. _All_ that you are, even if you think that being relieved that I didn't die makes you think that you're unlovable. Because you're not. _I love you_." He didn't even pause to breathe. "And, plus, you don't have to look in the mirror and see yourself. I'll look at you enough for the both of us. I'll see you for who you are, and what I see is what I love."

Hermione didn't lift her head an inch. She didn't want him to see that she was crying.

If Harry noticed, he didn't mention it. Instead, he just continued, needing to say all he needed to while they were, indeed, stuck in a locked room. "Now, I don't know how much Ron has told you about what actually happened in the graveyard. But, when Voldemort and I started dueling, we locked wands. Some sort of dome appeared, and I saw my parents."

Hermione had to look up at that. Harry, too, had water in his eyes.

"I saw them, and I saw Cedric. Dumbledore said that the people who appeared were the people who were killed at the hand of Voldemort and his wand. Something called _Priori Incantantem_ , I think. It was horrible and wonderful all at the same time. And I spoke to them." He was rushing now, his words just rolling out of his mouth. "Cedric asked me to bring back his body and my parents said they were proud of me. They were proud of me, Hermione." His breath caught and he had to choke back a sob. "And the only thing I could think of in that moment was telling them about _you_.

"I know it's sounds crazy, and probably really stupid, given the circumstances that I found myself in. But I didn't even care. I wanted them to know that I had found someone like you; someone who drove me crazy, but who I couldn't stand to be apart from. I wanted them to know that their son would be okay, because he had you." He just managed to get a hold of himself. "So, I just can't, umm, I don't want to lose you. I don't think I could handle that. I need you. Now more than ever, Hermione. Voldemort is back. Cedric is dead, and I sometimes think that I died with him." He let out a tired breath. "So, I mean, you can think what you want about me, but just please don't leave me. Don't hate me. I need you, Hermione.

"You're the one person I have to see when I wake up in the morning. Who I've become, particularly this year, so tethered to you that I don't even know how I would even exist without you." He sat up straight. "So, you can hate me, resent me or whatever it is you're feeling, but please don't leave me. You can't shut me out. Please just _talk_ to me. I don't know how to _survive_ without you, let alone _win_."

Harry was finished. He wouldn't say anything more until she spoke, or Ron got back and let them out. He felt exposed, more vulnerable than he had ever felt in his entire life.

Hermione did not say anything as she allowed the silence between them to drag on. She quietly sobbed to herself, wishing everything would just stop. She didn't want to be having this conversation. She didn't want to hear him tell her things that made everything make sense, because what she was feeling definitely didn't make sense to her.

She loved him. She was sure of that. It was just too much to bear. That was it. She wasn't ready to feel so lost in another human being that she didn't know who she was without him. How healthy was that, really? But who was she without Harry Potter? Honestly. Was it even a question? Hermione Granger probably would have slipped through the cracks of Hogwarts if it wasn't for the Boy-Who-Lived.

But that wasn't even why she loved him.

Their silence dragged on well after the sun set and Harry's stomach even began to growl, which made them both smile, unknown to each other. Harry even lost track of time as they sat there, waiting for something to happen.

Thankfully, the lock in the door clicked open and Ron swung it open wide. "So...?" he sounded, looking eager, and then wholly disappointed. "I was kind of hoping I would find you in a compromising position," he said, only slightly amused. "Did you two talk?"

Hermione didn't respond as she rose to her feet and walked towards Ron, her eyes red from her tears. Before she exited the room, she stopped and turned back to look at Harry, who was still sitting in his chair, watching her.

"I don't hate you, Harry," she said softly. "I love you too," she whispered, the words sounding glorious and painful at the same time. "Don't you see? That's the problem." Then, giving Ron a sympathetic look, she disappeared from the room.

Ron looked at Harry, searching for an explanation.

Harry just shook his head. "Don't ask me."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

"Are you ever going to tell me what's actually going on between you and Hermione?" Ron asked Harry, as he watched his best friend finish up with his dinner in the Great Hall. Harry had made it just in time to fill his plate before the food disappeared. Hermione was nowhere to be seen.

Harry chewed meaningfully on the piece of steak in his mouth, thinking hard about what he could say without completely breaking down in front of the redhead. The last thing he wanted was to talk to Ron about all of this. Hermione was usually the one he talked to.

"Because I can't go home knowing my two best friends are on the outs. It's going to ruin everything."

Harry risked a look at the redhead. They'd come so far from where they were when Harry's name first flew out of the Goblet. Ron seemed to realise that was what Harry was thinking because he sat up straight.

Ron cleared his throat. "I mean, whenever _we're_ on the outs, it's usually temporary, and _my_ fault. But with you and Hermione, Merlin, it feels like it might be permanent. And I don't like it."

Harry didn't know how to respond to that, mainly because he'd never heard Ron be so vocal about any of their friendships. "It's going to be fine," Harry said softly, even though his words felt like a lie. He was sure even Ron could see through the pained look on his face. He didn't know if things would actually be okay. What was _okay_ anyway? Was it how he and Hermione were before the year began, or some time during the year? Frankly, that didn't matter... as long as it wasn't how they were now. He'd be willing to go back to a time when he wasn't in love with her if it meant she would still be his best friend and confidante.

"Do you honestly believe that?" Ron asked, sounding particularly irritated. "I mean, I'm not pretending to be some kind of genius but I was kind of standing right next to her when she told you that she, umm, loved you. In fact, she said she loved you _too_ , which really means that you told her you loved her first." Ron even shuddered at the words. Clearly, the word 'love' was too much for anyone to handle. "In my experience, and I won't say I have much or any at all, two people who love each other and know they do is supposed to be a good thing, right?"

Harry didn't respond.

"And now it's like the fact that you love each other is the worst thing to happen since the birth of Draco Malfoy."

Harry stood up, suddenly losing his appetite - and his temper. "Look, Ron, I don't know what you want me to tell you." His voice was strained, like he was barely holding on. "It isn't even important. Cedric is dead! Voldemort is back! There are more things to worry about than what Hermione and I feel for each other!"

Ron looked stunned, but he eventually nodded. Clearly, everything that was happening was affecting his best friend a little more than he liked to let on. It even seemed to affect the way he carried himself. Head down, shoulders sagged.

"Sorry," Harry said, feeling guilty. "I just, I just think _I've_ done enough talking for one day, so I think I'm just going to go to bed now. I'll see you in the morning."

Ron sat perfectly still as he watched his male best friend rush out of the Great Hall like he couldn't wait to get away. Ron took a deep breath, gathering his own thoughts. He really had only one option left. If Harry wasn't going to give him any answers, then Ron was going to have to talk to Hermione himself. He, once again, shuddered at the thought.

Ron just knew that he couldn't allow them to go their separate ways for the summer with everything so up in the air. Things had to be resolved by the time they boarded the Hogwarts Express because, as much as he hated to admit it, Ron knew that Harry needed Hermione much more than he needed him.

Rising from the table, Ron set about locating his other best friend. Finding her, though, was not easy. He checked in all the usual places, even combing through every row of bookshelves in the library, which was actually quite the feat. He searched the classrooms to no avail, even sneaked into a few girls' bathrooms, much to the horror of a group of second years. No sign of Hermione.

It was getting late. Ron returned to the Gryffindor common room, half expecting to find Harry and Hermione seated side by side on the couch opposite the fire, doing that strange finger thing that they did. He was irritated when they weren't to be found. Ron had just managed to get used to it, and now they'd gone and ruined it all.

Ron shuffled towards Lavender, noting that neither of his best friends was actually _in_ the round room. "Hey, Lavender," he said softly, wary of interrupting her conversation with Parvati. "Is Hermione around?"

Lavender regarded him, her face expressionless. The sincerity in his tone threw her. "No, she hasn't come back yet," she said. "I think I heard Ginny say she headed out the back of the Castle. She might have gone to see Hagrid."

"Oh." Ron sounded defeated. "Thanks." He moved away from the girls and settled in an armchair, his own mind trying to make sense of what was going on with his friends. They definitely weren't acting like themselves, which was quite understandable when you threw the word 'love' into the mix. Ron just wished they'd _talk_ to each other. Better yet, he just wanted them to _look_ at each other.

Ron remained in his armchair, determined not to move until Hermione returned. He watched the portrait hole like a hawk, his heartbeat picking up whenever it opened, only to leave the boy disappointed every time. Slowly, the room started to clear, students retiring to their dorm rooms. Still, Ron remained. Still, Hermione didn't return.

Just when he was starting to doze, the portrait opened one final time and his bushy-haired best friend stepped through, looking utterly spent. Ron immediately got to his feet, surprising Hermione.

"Where have you been?" he asked, sounding weary and breathless. He was also a bit irritated. Waiting up for her was cutting into his sleeping time, and Ronald Weasley _loved_ his sleep.

Hermione didn't answer him. "What are you still doing up?"

"I've been waiting for you," he said curtly. " _Where_ have you been?"

Hermione blinked back her surprise at his tone of voice. Perhaps she would tell him the truth. What could it hurt? And, really, he looked like there was something rather pressing _he_ wanted to say to her. Hermione was under no guise that it obviously had something to do with Harry. She might not have been ready to hear whatever he had to say earlier that afternoon, but she supposed now she was.

"Hermione?" Ron prompted, allowing his tiredness to creep into the way he said her name. It had an almost pleading sound, which he quite hated.

"I was having tea with Professor McGonagall," she eventually said.

Ron frowned. Definitely not what he'd expected. "I was looking for you," he said quietly. "I need to talk to you."

Hermione stepped further into the common room and sat down in the armchair he'd just vacated. She placed her hands in her lap and waited. She would let him get to whatever he wanted to say, all on his own. Hermione'd already had an earful from her favourite professor.

"You're being an idiot," Ron finally said, surprising even himself. When he'd set out to find her, he'd never expected to call _Hermione Granger_ an _idiot_. Those two were mutually exclusive, if ever there were two things.

Hermione's eyes snapped towards him, though she said nothing. In her mind, she conceded she might have deserved it. In fact, it was probably the word most apt to describe her _un_ Hermione-like behavior. She'd called herself an idiot countless times during the late evening with McGonagall. It didn't stop her from feeling angry about Ron calling her one though. She would address it at another time.

Ron paced in front of her. "You and Harry are like... I mean, you're _Harry_ and _Hermione_. And this whole thing between you is just stupid." Again, another word that was probably never used to describe anything to do with Hermione. "Hermione, things happened to him," he said somberly. "Terrible, bad things, and he needed us - both of us - because I wouldn't be enough. He needed _you_ , and you weren't there."

Hermione's guilt made her neck heat up in shame.

"You weren't there! How could you not be there? You're the one who's supposed to stay; the one who he put his undying faith in, because you're the one he believes will never leave him." Ron felt hot, like all the unspent anger within him was warming his body. "He watched Cedric die, Hermione. He was cut, blood drawn to bring back that wretched You-Know-Who. He fought him again. He did that, and he survived. He bloody well survived, Hermione! Again! Harry Potter evaded death again, and you're acting like you wish he'd died."

Hermione stood up at that, needing to be at eye-level with Ron. "Don't!" she said hotly, almost yelling. "Don't you _ever_ say something like that. How could you even _think_ something as vile as that?"

Ron didn't back down, though the fire in her eyes made him a little wary about how to proceed. "Well, what am I supposed to think? You can't even look at him. It's... it's as if just the sight of him makes your insides turn, but in a bad way. You're supposed to be his best friend and it's like you don't even care about what happened to him; about what he's going through right now."

Hermione stared at Ron, feeling like anything she said would be pointless. Ron was right, in some way at least. Hermione didn't know where Ron found the guile to discuss such a topic with her. After the year they'd had, Hermione wasn't sure she'd quite forgiven Ron. Not the way that Harry did, if he actually had.

Her anger with Ron came from a place where she'd been left to deal with insuring Harry's safety on her own. It was too big for one person. But then, Hermione wasn't sure she trusted anyone else to protect him the way she could, she _would_. Even Dumbledore made her uneasy. This _was_ the man who allowed a fourteen-year-old boy to compete in the Tri-Wizard Tournament. How could he have expected that decision to end well? A student was dead, another had watched it happen and the darkest wizard of their generation was alive again.

"You said you love him?" Ron suddenly asked, drawing Hermione from her thoughts.

"What?"

"Love," Ron said the word with a grimace. It just felt strange to say. These were his best friends he was talking about. "What was that all about? You said it was the problem."

Hermione thought back to her lengthy discussion with Professor McGonagall. They had spent hours talking about the events of the year, up to and including the past few days; the days following the Third Task. Hermione even admitted to the Professor that she was in love with Harry. Despite McGonagall's obvious glee, she remained calm. She picked up on Hermione's hesitation.

When Hermione explained her thoughts, the Professor understood. The talk had helped immensely, and now Ron was just beating what she now knew into her. It made sense that she would explain herself to Harry before she explained herself to Ron, but now the redhead was asking her questions that were going to lead to answers. Maybe it would do her well to discuss it all with someone who understood what it was like to be so close to Harry Potter.

"The part that scares me the most is that I don't know who I would be without him," Hermione said softly, not sure that Ron would understand. The truth was she didn't quite understand it all that much herself. It just seemed too big a problem for teenagers. Wasn't she supposed to lose herself in love? Like a kid.

She had to stop there and consider the truth that they really weren't children. They were old souls, having witnessed too many horrors. Harry Potter would never be allowed to be just a boy. Not even in love.

"And with him?" Ron asked.

"I don't really care who I am when I'm with him," she admitted, thinking shamefully about the Dark Arts book. "I should, and I desperately _want_ to, but I don't. He's Harry. I just needed some time to wrap my head around all of it."

Ron smirked. "You're normally quicker to catch on, you know?"

Hermione had to smile. She felt a bit relieved that Ron, despite his insults, didn't seem to hate her. In fact, he seemed to grasp what she was feeling, which was _really_ odd. Maybe he too had lost sight of himself in his feelings towards Harry.

"You love Harry, don't you, Ron?" Hermione asked curiously.

Ron's eyes bulged. "Hermione, seriously, I know Harry and I talk a good game, but we're _really_ not like _that_."

Hermione let out a light laugh. "I don't mean romantic love, silly. He's your best friend. You care about him. Would do just about anything to make sure nothing bad happened to him, even if he told you he didn't deserve it."

All the while, Ron was nodding. "Of course."

She took a deep breath. "Imagine what you feel, and try to intensify it. Imagine it being all-consuming, mind-numbing... It changes you. I turned myself inside out this year, because I could not and cannot handle the thought of losing him. He _had_ to survive, no matter what. Before, he was just my friend. For a while, my only one. I could never part with him. How could I, or anyone, exist in this life without him?

"Every day that Harry is alive is a day that Voldemort uses to plot against him. He's valiant and brave and too good for what the world has done to him. He deserves everything great from the world -"

Ron cut her off. "Including you."

Hermione's breath caught. "What?"

"Don't do that," he said, only slightly annoyed. "You know how important you are to Harry. Not only now or even this year, but always. You _are_ great. He knows it. I know it. You _must_ know it."

Hermione dismissed his comments, choosing to sidestep them rather than acknowledge them. She and Ron had _never_ had this type of conversation. It was definitely throwing her for a loop. "That's not important," she dismissed. "I'm trying to tell you why I ended up acting like an _idiot;_ why I would be _stupid_ to run away from being loved by Harry Potter." At least, that was what she thought she was doing.

Ron was listening.

"Harry has a strength you and I will never understand. I don't know where it comes from or how it came to exist within him, but it's there. He feels _everything_. Every bad thing that happens in this world is his fault. I don't know if it's the Dursleys' fault, but he's a guilty party even though nothing could remotely be his fault.

"It makes him vulnerable. It makes him susceptible to the ugliness of the world because, in his mind, he thinks he deserves it. Isn't that the most heartbreaking thing you've ever heard?" When no response came to her rhetorical question, she continued. "Despite all of that, he's so kind and thoughtful and perfect and true. And I never quite understood how that could be until I learned to fully appreciate who he was, came to adore him and love him dearly."

Ron was trying to follow what she was saying, and he was doing a good job of it. The problem was, though, he just didn't understand _why_ she was saying what she was. "Hermione, I don't quite get what you're trying to tell me."

Hermione risked a smile. "Sorry," she said softly. "Frankly, I don't quite know what I'm trying to tell you either."

Ron laughed at that. "Reckon it's the love-brain?"

Hermione reached out and flicked his arm with her finger. "I suppose I was kind of just listing reasons why I love him, wasn't I?"

"You should be telling _him_ , you know. Not me."

"I know."

"Get it together, Hermione. Harry Potter doesn't allow himself to need just _anyone_. This is what he's most afraid of. People leaving him. Make it clear to him you haven't abandoned him. I don't think he would recover if that were actually true."

Hermione took a deep breath. "I will. Tomorrow. As soon as I see him."

Ron nodded once. "All right. Goodnight." He twisted on his heel and moved towards the stairs. He halted and turned to look at her. "Say, Hermione," he sounded, getting her attention. "If you tell anyone about this conversation, I'll deny it. Hex me all you want."

Hermione _had_ to smile. "Call me an idiot again and I might just."

"You deserved it," he said, shrugging.

Hermione dropped her head slightly. "Perhaps."

"Goodnight, Hermione."

"Goodnight, Ronald."

* * *

Harry didn't go down for breakfast in the Great Hall. Ron told Hermione that Harry wanted to have a lie in, which wasn't unusual but still rather suspicious. Ron also said that he was quite certain Harry hadn't slept a wink. The nightmares were bad.

Hermione spent most of the day on edge, waiting, wondering when she would see him. As soon as he was within sight, she would _have_ to talk to him. Ron made her promise to have the situation resolved by the time they boarded the train. Harry'd said all he needed to say. Now it was her turn. Then, it would be up to him again. Hermione much preferred it that way.

It was late afternoon when it all came to a head. Hermione's mind turned to porridge when she spotted Harry sitting at a table in the Gryffindor common room when she returned from the library. He looked smaller than she remembered, as if everything that had happened - and was still happening - was slowly making him disappear. He was hunched over a piece of parchment, scribbling something with his favourite quill. Well, it was actually _her_ favourite, and he insisted on using it, now that he knew.

She moved towards him, desperately trying to calm her racing heart. Would he even want to talk to her?

"Harry?" she croaked, but he didn't stir. In fact, he did, barely lifting his head, but he appeared to believe he hadn't heard correctly.

In his mind, it was near impossible for him to hear Hermione's voice say his name. Probably wishful thinking.

Hermione tried again. "Harry?"

Harry's head snapped up and his eyes immediately settled on her, bulging in the process. "Hermione?"

"Can we talk?" she asked softly.

Harry looked stuck between a rock and a hard place; he didn't know how to respond. What did she want to say to him? From the look on her face, it couldn't be anything good.

"After you're done with whatever you're doing, of course," she added, trying to ease his mind. The panic on his face made her hate herself just a bit more for the way she'd treated him.

Harry just stared at her, much like every other student in the common room. This exchange could result in one of two things happening. Harry hoped for reconciliation of _any_ kind but those few envious girls dreamed of witnessing a heated row between the out-of-sorts best friends. They wanted Harry freed up of any female companionship.

Hermione started to feel unsure of herself, which was very unlike her. Stepping forward to glance at the page before him, curiosity getting the better of her, she asked, "What are you writing anyway? Exams are over." Not that he'd written any.

Harry swallowed, searching for his voice. After their last conversation, this exchange was the last thing he expected. "It's a letter," he finally said. Then, dropping his voice to a whisper, he added, "to Sirius."

Hermione rocked on her heels. "I hope you're not writing terrible things about me," she said, trying to inject some semblance of humour into her tone.

Harry took a breath. "I actually haven't mentioned you." He didn't know why he said it, but it wasn't really to hurt her feelings. It was fact. Though, he didn't miss the way her expression faltered. "I was afraid writing it down would make whatever is going on real," he added, heat rising in his neck. Why did he suddenly sound like a little boy?

When Hermione didn't respond, Harry scribbled out the rest of his letter, signed it and then jumped to his feet.

Hermione stepped back in surprise and Harry just smiled apologetically.

He shrugged once, looking her in the eye. "Walk with me to the Owlery?" he asked.

Hermione nodded dumbly, stepping back and allowing him past. Before she followed him out of the portrait hole, she sneaked a look Ron's way. He gave a slight nod of his head. It was enough for Hermione to know that she and Harry were definitely about to have a conversation that would change _everything_.

Hopefully, though, for the better.


	11. Chapter 11

AN: This is the last chapter, reposted to include the official end of the story.

* * *

Chapter Eleven

Before the portrait even closed fully behind Harry and Hermione, the Gryffindor common room erupted in rushed voices, some of which the pair caught.

 _I told you!_

 _It's going to happen! It's going to happen!_

 _You reckon they'll end up hexing each other?_

 _Five knuts they're a couple by dinner time!_

Neither Harry nor Hermione commented. Harry supposed their House needed something on which to focus their attention. Something a little more positive than the fact that Cedric was dead, Voldemort was back or that Harry Potter had a part to play in both of those awful things happening.

The pair walked for a while, absently in the direction of the Owlery in the West Tower. They were silent, matching each other's steps, as if they were both trying to get used to the other. It wouldn't take long, Harry was sure, but it _did_ feel like forever since they'd walked side by side.

It was Hermione who broke their silence, her voice sounding strange as it escaped her lips. "I'm really sorry, Harry."

Harry looked at her expectantly, noting that she did indeed intend to say more.

"I know I haven't been acting very, umm... Well, I haven't been acting like myself, and that is all my fault. Ron even went as far to call me an idiot, and I fully agree with him."

Harry blinked in surprise but he didn't say anything, much to Hermione's relief. He had every right to agree with her, even elaborate, but he didn't think it was a good idea. He understood how difficult of a sentence it must have been for her to say. Out loud. To him.

"I think I just needed some time," she said, keeping her eyes focused on the ground as they walked. "You shocked me a little. No, well, you shocked me _a lot_. It wasn't just that you _told_ me you loved me. I think it was just a buildup of a lot of things, within me, and it was really unfair of me to take it out on you the way I did.

"I needed someone other than myself to blame for whatever strange thoughts and feelings I was experiencing. You were right. I shouldn't feel guilty for being relieved that you weren't the one who died. I realise now that that's a normal response to how I already feel about you. I just, umm, didn't expect you to say it, first, or at all. I suppose I panicked, and I needed time to adjust to who I am when it comes to you." She took a breath. "I've spent most of this year trying to come to terms with it, and then it happened all at once and I just wasn't able to deal with it. Not the way you needed me to."

Harry rounded a corner, quite surprised that he even remembered how to walk at this point. Hermione was saying things, but she wasn't really saying _things_. Really, he'd forgiven her from the moment he heard her say his name, which he knew was pathetic, but she was too important to him. What use was it holding a grudge over something she couldn't seem to help?

Hermione noticed that they were nearing the Owlery and she thought it best not to continue with her proclamations until Harry had sent his letter. She followed him up the tower until they reached their destination. Harry's eyes searched for his familiar, her snowy white colour standing out like a sore thumb among the dull grey owls of Hogwarts. Harry moved towards Hedwig, but he didn't attach the letter to her leg. Instead, he used one of the Hogwarts' owls just to Hedwig's left.

"I'm sorry," Hermione heard Harry say to his owl. "You know it's too dangerous for Sirius. You're too recognisable as my owl," he explained.

The owl seemed to look at Harry with hurt in her amber eyes, but she eventually dropped her head, inviting him to scratch her. She didn't like not being sent but she definitely understood. For Hermione, it was actually quite beautiful to watch Harry interact with the bird as if she were his family.

Harry scratched Hedwig behind her folded wing, whispered something soothing and then headed back to Hermione. He stopped right in front of her. "She's not too happy with me," he admitted, as if they could just move on to an entirely different conversation without addressing anything Hermione had said.

Hermione was tempted to let it happen. He had said that what he wanted was to be able to talk to her. But did that mean that that was _all_ he wanted now? Was she sure they could handle any more?

"I kind of just want to send a letter to someone random, so that she doesn't feel so neglected," he said when Hermione didn't respond.

Were they really not going to talk about it? "Why don't you write to Professor Lupin?" she offered.

Harry seemed to think about it for a moment, before he shrugged. Then, Harry's expression grew pensive. When he looked at her, he met her gaze, halting her breathing. "Will I be able to write you this summer?" he asked, his voice soft and sad.

Hermione wanted to kick herself. He looked so unsure of himself and she knew she was partly to blame for it all. He was a boy again in those eyes of his, even though his body had grown. Hermione couldn't decide if _that_ was a good or bad thing. "I would be mightily mad if you didn't," she managed to say.

"Good," he said, not even smiling. Under normal circumstances, he was sure he would have grinned but it really all felt just a bit too weird for him. Then, remembering how they were, he added, "You will write back though?"

Hermione immediately threw caution to the wind and moved forward to crush him in a bruising hug. Hermione noted that he stiffened under her hold but she didn't let him go, though her death grip did loosen. Not until she felt him relax. He was tentative as his hands reached to touch her back. He was trembling as his mind went through everything that had happened to him in the past few days.

"Hermione?" he whispered, his voice shaky and confused.

"I'm sorry," she said, feeling the racing of his heartbeat and wishing he would calm down. She was supposed to be the one to keep him calm. "It's okay," she said soothingly. "We're going to be okay. I'm not going anywhere. Not again. I'll never go."

At that, Harry suddenly clutched at her, pulling her flush against him as if she was the only reason he was holding on to his sanity. He held her so tight that she was sure she could feel the buttons of his school shirt through her robes.

Hermione wasn't sure how long they stayed there, holding onto each other like their lives depended on it. Eventually, she had to pull away, wriggling in his hold so she could breathe properly. She let out a breath that tickled his neck, making him smile even though he wasn't sure he even wanted to. It was a good thing she didn't see it. Hermione was tempted to bury her face in his neck and just breathe him in, but she didn't.

"Do you want to go somewhere and talk?" she asked instead.

Harry nodded dumbly, dropping his arms to his sides and taking a noticeable step back from her.

Hermione tried not to think too much about what that action meant. She was under no illusion that merely hugging him - and having him hug her back - would magically fix everything, but it still stung to have him move away from her.

"Where do you want to go?" Harry asked. He'd never asked the question before. Sometimes they walked aimlessly and that was usually fine. The fact that he wanted a destination told her a lot about the state of their relationship.

"I thought we could just walk," she said, kicking at a loose stone with her foot. It stopped right in front of Harry, bouncing off his shoe. "Maybe find somewhere, maybe not."

Harry kicked the stone back towards her. "Okay."

Hermione didn't want to turn away from him but it was the only way to get them moving. They walked for a while, in silence so quiet, she was certain she could hear the Slytherins down in the dungeons. Even the sound of their footsteps seemed too shy to make too much noise.

Harry didn't know what he could say. The truth was that he'd never imagined a world where Hermione wouldn't believe him. In essence, she'd done the same thing as Ron. The way he didn't believe he'd put his name in the Goblet; she didn't believe that he meant it when he said he loved her. Unlike Ron, Hermione came to her senses much faster. He'd forgiven Ron. He'd forgiven Hermione.

But now he had no idea what to say to her, and he'd never not been able to talk to Hermione. So, as they walked, he settled for looking at her. It still amazed him just how beautiful she was to him. He'd never seen it before, and that was okay. Now that he loved her, she was perfect, faults and all. Those bossiness and bookworm traits that made her the Hermione he knew so well; he wouldn't change a thing.

"I'm sorry about Cedric," Hermione eventually said. "After the Yule Ball, I know you two got quite close."

Harry swallowed. "He didn't even think twice, Hermione," he said softly. "Voldemort. At the sight of Cedric, he ordered him dead, and Pettigrew just did it. Just like that. A flick of his wand. A short spell, and a life was gone." He shook his head. "I can't be surprised. I mean, he tried to kill me when I was just a _baby_ , but how is any of this okay?" Harry's voice caught and he fought the rising wave of anxiety. He'd felt a version of this when he was facing his own mortality during the Tournament but now it felt more severe. Voldemort was back and Harry was certain that he was number one of the Dark wizard's hit list.

"It's not okay," Hermione agreed with him. "It's never been nor will it ever be _okay_. Voldemort is evil, Harry. He doesn't care about anything but power. I'm sure he doesn't even care about his pureblood followers. He just wants to be the most feared wizard there ever was. He wants his name written in the History books for all of eternity."

"Well, he's succeeded," Harry muttered. "He's going to come after me, Hermione. I don't think I could survive a third time. Or a fourth."

Hermione desperately pushed the thought of losing him out of her mind. She even had to stop walking to accomplish the feat. "You listen to me, Harry Potter. You have to remember that what the History books also say is that Voldemort _can_ be defeated. He can be beaten, just like every other terrorist because all they are is delusional men. And what's worse, at least for him, is that he was destroyed by a baby. What does that tell you about his power? What does that tell you about your own?"

Harry stood a few steps ahead of her, having been forced to stop when she did. Harry still felt like a little boy, especially when she was talking to him like this was a lecture. His very own professor. He couldn't help smiling.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, somewhat confused by the appearance of his smile. It was probably number two on her list of his smiles. It was the one he smiled when he thought of something he didn't want to voice out loud. It really was a far cry from his devilish number seven smile.

"It's quite nice out today, isn't it?" Harry said, his eyes drifting outward to the late afternoon sun.

Hermione was a little bewildered. "You're asking me about the weather?"

He shrugged. "Merely suggesting a vague destination for our walk," he said lightly. "Unless you _want_ to stay inside?"

Hermione eyed him for a moment, trying to figure out what had made him smile. She couldn't remember saying anything particularly amusing. Not that she really cared. He had smiled in her presence, even if it had nothing to do with her. Without another word, Hermione started to walk again.

"Ron told me what happened in the graveyard," Hermione said, needing to get through all she decided she needed to say. "Are you okay?" At his sideways glance, she immediately added, "Physically, I mean."

"A few scrapes and bruises," he said, shuddering at the memory. "I'm still trying to recover from the Cruciatus but I'm not quite sure _how_ to do that. Madam Pompfrey said it would take some days for the entirety of the aftereffects to subside. I'm tired a lot of the time and I'm not quite keen on being touched." He took a breath. "By just anyone, that is," he added.

Hermione wanted to hug him again, just to wipe the broken and pained look off of his face. Harry Potter didn't deserve any of this. Nobody as good and pure as he should be subjected to such evil. He'd done _nothing_ to warrant it.

"But I suppose I'm all right," he continued. "At least I'm not dead."

Hermione watched his face drop all expression at his own words, as if he didn't believe he'd just said them. "Do you want to be?" she asked cautiously, recalling his state of mind when he emerged from the Black Lake.

This time, Harry was the one who stopped walking. He didn't look at her. "People die because of me, Hermione," he said flatly, as if it was something he came to believe as fact. "My parents, Cedric. You know as well I do that this is just the beginning. He'll come for me and, when he does, more people are going to die."

"It's a War, Harry. Good versus evil. People die in a War."

"That doesn't make it okay."

"I'm not saying it does."

Harry finally looked at her, breathing out in mild frustration. "All I'm saying is wouldn't it just be better if I died? It must be tiring trying to keep me alive. I'm sure you even think that."

Hermione didn't even have the words to express how horrified she was by his revelations. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, trying desperately to come up with something that didn't just make him want to run. But, as she thought more about it, she had to concede that the year had actually been rather exhausting, and it had quite a bit to do with her incessant drive to make sure that Harry Potter did not die.

"It wouldn't be better," Hermione finally said, making sense of her thoughts. "We need you here, Harry. _I_ need you. And so what if it's tiring? I don't care. I'll spend every minute of my life doing it, without fail. Because you're worth it. And I am definitely not the only one who thinks so."

"No," he said quietly, his eyes downcast. "You're just the most important."

Hermione didn't hold herself back this time. She threw her arms around him, her own selfish need to hold him overpowering her. "Of course I need you, Harry. I'll always need you," she whispered, her mouth right by his ear. "Please believe me when I tell you that. You can't die. I won't let you, and you better not let yourself die either."

Harry hesitated again before he did that thing where he clutched her tightly in his form of death grip. It was different to Hermione's in the fact that his was from a place of desperation. It was contact he craved even though he thought he didn't deserve it.

Hermione was careful as she released him. She wasn't sure how else to let him know that she was over her initial scare, and she would never leave him again. Short of tying him down and repeatedly telling him she was there to stay, she didn't know what else she could do. Well, she considered kissing him. She sort of always did.

But she didn't. She needed to be his best friend again, before she could think about all those other things. He needed his best friend before he needed a girlfriend. He'd said as much the day before.

Harry started to walk again, his own mind swirling with confusing thoughts. They were headed towards the back of the Castle, walking at a slow pace. Harry was actually quite surprised that the corridors were so empty. He supposed that other students were trying to fit in some last-minute packing before the end-of-year Feast that evening. He was also sure that most students were keen to keep away from him, even though that didn't stop them from staring at and talking about him.

"We've had quite the year, haven't we?" Harry said, his voice sounding a little more sure of himself.

Hermione merely nodded, doing a crazy thing and slipping her right hand into his left. She felt him stiffen for a moment, but then he relaxed and squeezed his appreciation. She didn't lean into him, even though she wanted to.

"I was kind of looking forward to a quiet year," he admitted, as they descended the back steps. He even let out a light chuckle. "I suppose that the only good thing to come out this year is how I look at you now."

"And how I look at you," Hermione added for good measure.

Harry nudged her slightly, knocking them both a bit off balance. "How _do_ you look at me?"

"Like nothing in this great big world even matters, so long as I get to look at you," she said, the severity of her tone making him stumble on the grass. "You are everything, Harry."

Harry let go of her hand and used his own to run through his hair. His hand came to rest on the back of his neck as they continued to walk at a much slower pace.

Hermione started to worry she'd said something wrong. He looked so thoughtful but the good news was that he didn't appear panicked. Not at all like she felt. Hermione guided them towards the back wall and slowed to a stop. She _needed_ him to say something.

"Harry?" she prompted.

"What happens now?" he asked.

She took a deep breath. "Anything you want to happen, Harry."

"I don't want to overwhelm you," he said seriously. "I won't handle your disappearing again."

She chose not to remind him that she wasn't going to go anywhere again.

"You are my best friend," he said, almost relieved to be able to say the words out loud. "And I'm okay with that if it's all you want."

Hermione swallowed. "What if it's not _all_ I want?"

Harry's eyes widened in surprise, not because of the words themselves but because she actually _said_ them. That gave him something to think about.

Hermione was looking at him, searching his face for any sign of what he was feeling. Whenever she couldn't read his facial expression; it usually meant that his feelings were mixed up, swirling through his mind. At that point, Hermione wasn't sure if it was a good or a bad thing.

So, she waited what felt like a very long time. She even leaned back against the hard Castle wall, hoping he would say or do something, anything, to calm the haphazard beating of her heart.

Harry looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time. And, in all intents and purposes, maybe he was. He studied her face and then allowed his eyes drift down over her body, almost surveying. This was Hermione. She wanted more. This was _his_ Hermione. She was here, right in front of him, leaning against the Castle, biting that bottom lip of hers.

He had to blink when he realised it. Then he smiled. Number two.

He had been here before.

Harry had _definitely_ been here before.

He remembered it clearly, and with considerable regret. She was leaning against the back of the Castle again and all he could think about was that he definitely should have kissed her the last time they were here. Somehow, if he'd kissed her before the Third Task, he was sure things would have been better.

No. They probably would have been worse.

As Harry watched her, he considered doing what he'd wanted to before. It would have been easy to step towards her, push his body against her and press his lips against hers. But then, would that overwhelm her? Would that overwhelm _him_? She was his best friend. But then there was that niggling thing of it not being _all_ she wanted.

Harry didn't know why he smiled but it made Hermione smile as well.

"What?" Hermione asked innocently.

He shook his head. "Nothing." Then, taking a small step towards her, he asked, "Actually, do you think I could try something?"

He was so close, Hermione didn't trust herself to speak. All she managed to do was nod her head, her gaze never once leaving his. She could even feel his breath on her skin, and she closed her eyes.

Without much thought, Harry leaned in an gently kissed the tip of her nose, just like she had done the night of the Yule Ball. He was relieved when she didn't recoil, not that he really expected her to. Then, feeling courageous, he placed a feather-light kiss on her one eyelid, and then on the other. He kissed each of her cheeks, breathing her in as he did.

Hermione remained perfectly still, desperately trying not to make a sound. But when his warm and soft lips fluttered over the skin of her neck, she _had_ to make a sound - the good kind - and Harry's head snapped back, his eyes wide. She opened her own eyes to see the panic on his face.

He went too far, he was sure. Ah. Why would he think that kissing his best friend's _eyelids_ would be okay?

"Sorry," Hermione whispered, her cheeks burning with utter embarrassment. "It's okay," she said, pinching the the front of his robes between her finger and thumb and attempting to pull him towards her. "Come back."

Harry waited a confused beat before he shook his head. "No," he said.

"No?"

"I said no." Then he smiled that devilish one that made her weak at the knees. That lucky number seven smile. His eyes were even glinting with whatever mischief he had planned.

"I heard you," she said, a slight frown on her face. What was he going to do?

"Then what's wrong?" he asked innocently.

Hermione changed her hold on his robes to a fist. She held a good chunk of the fabric in her hand, determined not to let go. "Harry," she breathed. "Come back here."

He put a hand over the one of hers that held him in position. "If you want me, Hermione," he said flatly, "you're going to have to say it."

Hermione stared at him for a moment, wondering when and how her Harry had returned to her. She couldn't even pinpoint where in this endless conversation he had gone from the unsure boy back to the severe young man who emerged during the trials of the year. In a moment, he looked more handsome than he had ever looked. In a moment, she decided that she wanted to be the one to kiss his nose and his eyelids and his cheeks, chin, jawline... everywhere.

The thought merely aggravated her blush. Looking at him now, she knew she wouldn't be able to get on that train and spend the next three months without being able to see him; to have him close enough to breathe him in. Three months was too long. Especially when the state of their relationship was still rather perilous. She wasn't sure if it was something she could tell him though. Not after she'd seen the panic in his eyes.

But then, the way he looked at her, so calm, so severe; it made her certain this was what he wanted. _She_ was what he _wanted_. He'd said it enough times. Now he wanted to hear it from her.

Harry held her gaze captive, making it impossible for her to look away. "Say it, Hermione."

She swallowed. "I need you to come home with me this Summer," she said, her voice barely audible.

That wasn't what Harry was expecting to hear and it caught him a little off guard. Okay, _a lot_ off guard. He tried to step back but Hermione wouldn't let him. She held the front of his robes firmly, determined to keep him in position, if not pull him closer.

"I can't stand the thought of you spending another summer with your relatives," she said seriously. "Especially not now. Not after everything you've been through this year. You deserve to be with people who will look after you; people who will care about you. I would say you should go to the Burrow but I selfishly want you at my house, with me. So I can keep an eye on you."

He continued to stared at her, shock stopping him from responding. Every terrible thing that could result from his going to her house came to his mind all at once. "Hermione," he tried to protest. "It's too dangerous."

"For who?"

He shook his head, wanting to step back again. "No. What kind of question is that? For you. You could get hurt." He used mild force to take her hand off of him and took that step back, his mind needing to keep her a safe distance away from him. "What did I think I was doing? We can't do _this_." He kept shaking his head, sending himself down a dark path as his breathing picked up. "If they know you're important to me; they'll come after you too. No. No no no. I can't have that. It's too dangerous."

She stepped forward as he continued to step back. "Harry," she said, putting her hands on either side of his face, caressing his cheeks. "Calm down, Harry. Look at me."

He did.

"Listen to me when I tell you that there is now nothing you can do to make me leave you. This thing that you're doing, determined to keep others safe by being alone, is noble but stupid and unnecessary. I've spent four years at your side. You need us now more than ever. Everything is going to change.

"You have to do everything you possibly can to survive and I'm going to help you, whether you like it or not. Because we _are_ doing this, Harry. Whatever _this_ is. You have no choice now." She gave him a gentle, reassuring smile that she imagined spoke volumes of just how much she felt for him. " _I need you_ with me."

Harry let out a long breath, just managing to stop his whirlwind of doomed thoughts. Hermione was here. She was safe, right here, with him. He would protect her, just like she'd spent the year protecting him.

"I _want_ you with me," she continued, finding that she had to say the words as much as he had to hear them. "I want to be able to look at you and know that you're safe. I want to be able to feel you _look_ at me."

Harry's features softened as his breathing returned to a normal rate. But her next words halted his breathing entirely.

"I love you, Harry."

His heart stopped. He was sure of it. He couldn't feel or hear it beating. It stopped, and he was dead. She said _it_ and he could tell that she meant it. Hermione Granger was the type of girl who said what she meant. So, yes, he was dead, definitely.

Hermione couldn't make out his facial expression but she decided to push on. "You were right when you said it is so much more than every other word. Not appreciate, not adore, love. Love, Harry. I love you."

Harry had to blink to get his heart started again. The rush of blood made him feel dizzy. Or maybe it was the fact that she explicitly told him she loved him. He didn't care what it was but it made him lightheaded all the same. Slowly, tentatively, a smile spread across his face. Then, in an instant, he had his arms wrapped around her. He lifted her off the ground and spun them, gaining an excited shriek from the teenage witch.

"Harry!" she squealed, her own arms clinging to his shoulders.

They both nearly fell over when Harry finally set her down, unable to take his eyes off of her. "You love me."

It wasn't a question but Hermione still nodded. She couldn't get over the warmth she felt, partly from being held by him but mostly from being able to say what she felt and not have him run for the hills the way she had.

Harry stood up straight and cleared his throat. "Do you know why I _really_ bought you that necklace?" he asked, his eyes hazy, like he was delirious with unspent happiness.

Hermione's fingers subconsciously reached for the broomstick pendant resting at the hollow of her neck. "I assume it has nothing to do with the _Potter_ fan club?"

He shook his head, as he lifted his hand to enclose his fingers over hers that were fiddling with the pendant. Without a word, he tugged gently and she took an involuntary step towards him. Now she was close enough to breathe him in. Oak wood and vanilla. The perfect scent.

Hermione smiled. "Very clever, Mr Potter."

He shrugged. "I try." Then he smiled devilishly, making her weak at the knees. "I kind of also have my very own professor, you know?"

"Seems to me this professor has taught you well," she said, feeling a blush rise in her cheeks.

"Well, Snape has been rather informative."

Hermione let out a shriek of laughter, merely adding to her embarrassment. "Oh, Harry."

"And, I had to think fast, you know," Harry added, his eyes shining. "Someone told me the Summoning Charm didn't work on people, so I had to think of a way to make you come here."

Hermione would have pointed out that his timeline was all wrong but she suddenly didn't even care. The way he was looking at her, like he _wanted_ her, was making it impossible to focus on any one thought in her mind.

"So," Harry said, grinning. He tugged on the pendant once more. "Come. Here." No contemplation, no over-thinking. Harry knew this was his moment. He stepped towards her as well, standing impossibly close. He leaned in, a devilish smile framing his face.

Again, Hermione bit her bottom lip in anticipation, her eyes practically screaming for him to kiss her.

Harry paused to look at her. To see her. The look on her face was something he wanted to commit to memory. He never wanted to forget this very moment.

"Harry," Hermione eventually muttered, her impatience getting the better of her. It had been a _long_ year of waiting. "Honestly, would you just kiss me already?"

Harry laughed lightly. "I'm just being fashionably late, that's all," he whispered against her skin before he finally pressed his lips against hers, his warmth spreading through her. The kiss was soft, gentle and full of such longing that Hermione couldn't even begin to describe. It was literally everything she imagined it would be, if not more.

Harry's mind ceased to think of anything else but the feel and taste of Hermione Granger in that moment, even as his hands moved to hold her waist. He pulled her towards him and her arms snaked around his neck with such ease; it was as if she'd been doing it her entire life. The movement only deepened the kiss and Harry stumbled forward, almost falling into her.

Their lips parted and Harry let out an embarrassed laugh. "Sorry," he said softly, trying to catch his breath. "I'm new to this."

The look she gave him made the entire world disappear. That _look_. He let out a breath. She would be the death of him. Without another word, he stepped towards her once more, determined to make up for lost time.

And, the moment his lips touched hers again, the entire happenings of the year seemed worth it, if this was his reward. So. Much. Better. Than. Winning.

Hermione had to agree.

To think that it all started with a _look_. One was all it took, really, for Harry Potter to _see_ her.

 _finis_

* * *

AN: That's it, folks. Thank you very much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.


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